


Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

by intergalacticju, LPSunnyBunny



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Dirk Accidentally Kills Bro, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, POV Alternating, RP Style Formatting, That's the Death Tag, Time Travel, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalacticju/pseuds/intergalacticju, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LPSunnyBunny/pseuds/LPSunnyBunny
Summary: Dirk ends up in a world that's new, in a body that's not his, in a situation that is outside anything he ever prepared for. He doesn't know how he got into Bro Strider's body, but Dave is here, skinny, small.......andscaredof him.
Relationships: Dave Strider & Dirk Strider
Comments: 20
Kudos: 127





	1. Chapter 1

It happens all at once. A sense of vertigo, of deja vu, a stumble. One moment Dirk is standing in his workshop in World C, the next there's a  _ pressure _ in his brain and a cold as steel, hollow feeling of  _ who are you? _

Dirk recognizes the feeling of a splinter from years of experience, so it doesn't take much to grab this hollow, strange, unknown splinter and fold it into himself. To shush it and hold it close as it bristles and stabs like a particularly spikey metal hedgehog.

It grumbles and- instead of settling back into place- it... crumbles apart. Slides through his grip like sand. It doesn't fit into place because there's  _ nowhere for it to fit _ .

Dirk doesn't know what to do with that. He's never had a splinter dissolve like that before.

When he looks up, he's not standing in his workshop.

In fact, he's not standing at all. He's kneeling in some kind of kitchen, one hand clamped onto the counter.

It's not his kitchen. He's never seen this kitchen in his life. Everywhere he looks, there are strange... he supposes they're plush toys? Stuffed animals? They look lewd and Dirk feels strangely unsettled as he looks at them.

Where there aren't plushes, there are weapons. Shuriken stuck into the fridge. Knives scattered on the counter. A sword buried up to the hilt in the wall.

.....where the fuck  _ is _ he?

Dirk stands up and sways, forced to lean on the counter as a sense of dizzying vertigo hits him.

He's  _ tall _ . What the fuck? He has no fucking idea what's happening here but every part of him is screaming that it's  _ wrong _ .

He looks down at himself. He's dressed in clothing that he's never chosen in his life. A white polo, dark pants, leather gloves.

Movement, out of the corner of his eye. He looks-

Is that  _ Dave? _ He's... tiny. He's a  _ child _ .

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Oh no.

Dirk is in Bro's body.

This is a literal nightmare.

  
  
  


Dave is in his room at first, a silent typing of keys his hyperfocus, the screen in front of him the only thing he wants to exist in his life. It's where his friends live, where the life he pretends he has has manifested, and all he has to do is fill it with words, words, words. It's quiet and still right now, his headphones resting around his neck because he knows Bro is home and he isn't going to mix music anyway.

Except… he thinks he hears a noise.

It  _ definitely _ came from inside the apartment, and it was just the slightest jostle, enough that any normal person would ignore it. But Dave removes his headphones and sets them down gently, carefully, listening in again at the silence. Even when Bro moves around he doesn't make noise, so it can't be him. He might have imagined it, which would be weird but he'd roll with it. It  _ could _ be a burglar, but  _ boy _ this is the  _ worst _ place to burgle for a lot of reasons.

He's about to turn back to the screen when he thinks he hears something again- a grunt? A groan? And that is  _ absolutely not normal _ so with a round of "brb-ing", slowly gets out of his seat and to his door.

He captchalogues his katana ( _ 2+1+2+1+2+1 = 9%10 = 9 _ ) to put into his strife deck, inching closer to the door to peek out and just make sure a burglar isn't being stabbed or strangled by puppet strings or some shit, only to see…

Bro… In the kitchen? Looking like he fell or something, or is going to throw up. Both two things he's never really seen from the older man. Bro is… he's cool and composed and silent, and he certainly would never show weakness.

Oh shit that means Dave is seeing something he was never meant to see. Despite this, Dave doesn't move. His eyes are hidden behind his triangular frames, but he's frozen. Running would be  _ very bad _ , of course, a man stands up for himself. But he'll need to shift his katana to the specibus sooner rather than later if he's about to get the beatdown.

But he just kind of… stares.

  
  


Dirk is frozen. Dave is watching him and his expression is flat and blank which feels so  _ wrong _ , the Dave he knew was always grinning or had his brows furrowed in thought or emoting in  _ some _ way. This Dave's face is blank, but-

Dirk can read the lines of his body. See the edge to his stance, the way his feet turn in slightly, his shoulders stiff.

Dave looks like he's been caught off guard and is standing like a deer in the headlights. Dirk tries to desperately dredge up any piece of information he could remember about what Dave told him of Bro. It's not a lot and it's not pretty.

Dirk feels like he's going to be sick. He doesn't understand  _ anything _ about what's going on- but Dave is here in front of him and Dirk is in Bro's body and he-

  1. Oh no. Oh _fuck._ That splinter-



That wasn’t a splinter, was it?

That was  _ Bro. _

Dirk killed Bro. Dirk killed Bro without even knowing what he was doing. Bro didn't re-absorb back into Dirk because-

Well, there could be any number of reasons really but Dirk is going to freak out about that later.

Dave is still standing there. Wearing Dirk's- Bro's- style of shades.

Dirk doesn't know what the fuck to do. He is so fucking out of his element, he doesn't know what to do.

He has to do  _ something. _

"Dave." He says. His voice feels.... dry. Like it hasn't been used in a long time. "Everything alright?"

  
  


_ What the fuuucckkk? _ Even though Dave doesn't move, doesn't express it, inside he is pretty damn confused. Bro rarely calls him by name. He  _ never _ asks him if he's alright. And when he's looked at, it's calculating and for a reason but this? What is this?

_ I am Dave's brain-dead goldfish. _

"Of course," he suddenly says, trying to be careful with his words. Which goes right out the window when he adds, "You look like you ate gas station sushi." His thought process doesn't actually calculate if that's cleared Bro banter or not, because Dave rarely speaks to him too. They revolve around each other and collide, but their outer space swords tango doesn't need any other communication than that. 

Besides, Bro is the coolest person in the world, besides maybe Ben Stiller. This is probably some irony thing he just doesn't  _ get _ yet, which means he's unfortunately falling right into a ploy.

  
  


Dave doesn't move as Bro talks. In fact, there's a tiny little shift in his expression and then he goes  _ stiller _ , if that's possible. Like he's not even breathing.

When he talks, he sounds like he's trying to sound uninterested. Like nothing unusual is happening. There's a note to his voice that Dirk  _ hates _ .

Dirk's always been terrible at reading tone. A lifetime of text and videos for human interaction means that he's still not good at deciphering the rises and falls of human voice. The little upticks to indicate hidden meaning, the twisting of volume to mean changes of mood.

But he knows that the note he hears- he  _ doesn't _ like it. It makes his gut go tight. It makes his spine feel cold.

So he hums a little in response, searching for words. "I'm fine." He settles on saying. That's a blatant lie, but he's not going to add more to Dave's stress.

....unless that's a strange response from Bro, in which case it'll add  _ more _ stress. Fuck. Dirk is not good at this. He really needs to sit and just  _ think _ for a bit.

  
  


He's fine? That's…  _ good? He thinks? _ Maybe this is some bizarre dream from drinking that moldy apple juice. Technically if you scrape it off it's  _ fine _ , it just has a little kick. It's like illegal moonshining in his bedroom, which is cool as fuck. What's not cool is having acid dreams. If the puppets start talking he's out.

He chances taking a step closer, but his Guard is up. He knows the drill by now, and curiosity won't overrun that kind of drilling. "...Sure." 

Why isn't he doing  _ normal _ shit? Even Bro's  _ stance _ seems completely off, like a fucking body snatcher situation. Oh God, good luck to any alien who'd want to anal-probe Bro. He'd never let that happen.

  
  


Dirk feels like he gave the wrong response. Fuck.

Dave takes a step closer and Dirk watches him, watches the little tilt of his chin as he gives a deliberately (is it deliberate?) slow answer. Like he doesn't believe Dirk.

....well, he's right not to, because Dirk is very much not okay.

He's filling space in all the wrong ways, broad where he's used to slender, tall where he should be short, arms longer, legs longer. Dirk lets go of the counter and shifts to take a step forwards and doesn't even get his foot off the ground before his new center of gravity is pitching him forwards and he's hitting the floor on his knees as his head spins and he barely manages to not face plant by catching the counter again.

Great. Brother of the year award right here. If that doesn't freak Dave out, Dirk will eat his shirt.

Fuck. Even his  _ breathing _ is different. Dirk doesn't know how breathing can be different but it  _ is _ . He's breathing deeper, breathing more air with each breath, and it's fucking him up. Such a tiny little thing and it's sending him  _ reeling _ , screaming at him about how it's not him, he's not where he's supposed to be, he's not  _ in his own fucking body _ anymore.

Absent-mindedly, Dirk wonders if he's about to be sick. He certainly feels like he might be.

  
  


If Dave was one of those fucking anime cats he'd have puffed up, screeching and spitting in the process. All thoughts of coolness aside, he rushes forward when Bro falls but stops short of arm's distance, his eyebrows up now as he tries to figure out what to do. Holy shit holy shit.

His hands stim in front of his stomach and he briefly hopes Bro doesn't catch him doing it, but he can't just  _ touch _ the guy either. He chuckles nervously. "Ha ha, I was kidding about that gas station soosh, Bro. Everyone knows it's the egg salad you watch out for." Oh  _ God _ stop talking he doesn't care!

Maybe… maybe a waste bin. Okay fuck he can do that. He hesitates a moment but then he's gone lightning fast, back to his room to grab his little trash bucket. And it really is just some empty paint bucket he found, but he tilts it upside down to rid it of his garbage before flash-stepping back to the kitchen.

When he hands it to Bro, he's still distant, still on Guard, still waiting to see what the game is

  
  


As Dirk hits the floor, Dave shoots forwards but stops barely a couple of feet away. Yeah, Dirk can read the worry clear as day in his face, now. Dave does some weird little motion with his hands over his stomach- it invokes in Dirk the idea of a Victorian lady wringing her hands in worry.

Dave's a good kid, being concerned about his brother. A nervous joke, then he's gone and back with- an empty paint bucket? Hey, no judgement, maybe it's the first empty container that he saw.

Dirk takes it with a murmured, "thanks," puts it on the floor, and allows himself to let go of the counter and sit on his knees. He feels like Bro's body is trying to buck it's new resident- it's hot and cold all over and Dirk-

Shit. Thanks, Dave, for the paint can. That was a good call because no more than fifteen seconds after Dave brought it, Dirk is grabbing it again and bringing it up to his mouth as he pukes.

It's disgusting. Dirk hates vomiting as it is but the sensation of  _ puking in someone else's body _ has him wanting to claw his skin off,  _ especially _ because Bro is a heaving puker, apparently, which is ten thousand times worse than Dirk's puking of 'everything at once and then you're done'. Thankfully there's not a lot in his- fuck, in Bro's stomach.

"Dave, get me some water." Dirk requests, his stomach still rolling. If it's going to make him puke again, he needs something in here, he is  _ not _ going to fucking dry heave.

  
  


He's being  _ thanked _ , and that's not helping, this whole situation isn't helping. Dave can't remember a single time Bro has ever been sick either. Has it all caught up to him suddenly like some megalodon of a flu? That kinda makes sense in his head, it's not like they get vaccines for anything.

He does as he's told, but it takes him a moment, pausing at all of the puppets shoved in their few appliances, the random weaponry clogging their drains, embedded in plyboard covered in contact paper. In the end he shoves a bowl under the tap, the only thing clean, and fills it halfway with water before setting it for Bro. It briefly makes him think of a dog and he inhales sharply. "I couldn't find a cup," he explains quickly, tries not to mumble it, hopes it's okay.

  
  


Dave brings him... a bowl. Dirk is so thrown for a loop for a moment that it's like  his fuck,  _ Bro's _ body stops being sick to feel nothing but confusion.

He couldn't... find a cup? That's. That's really weird. Why are there no cups? That's such a tiny thing. So insignificant. All kitchens should have cups. Cups belong in the kitchen. Are there no cups?

Dirk takes the bowl, swishes some water in his mouth, and spits it out into the bucket.

"That's fine." He says. There are no cups. Why is he getting hung up on this? He feels like his brain is stuck going in circles. He takes another drink, swishes it, spits it out. Fuck. Okay. That's most of the taste gone. He can drink actual water now.

No cups.

He still feels hot and cold all over but at least now his stomach is empty of anything he could puke.

Shit, maybe he's sick. Did he come into Bro's body and Bro was already sick? Is this a side effect of whatever caused him to come here?

Fuck.

Well, right now he supposes it doesn't really matter. He's got a bowl full of water, a bucket full of puke, and a brother who is tiny and very clearly freaked out. Time to buckle his fucking bootstraps and deal with the goddamn situation like someone who actually has their fucking shit together.

Okay. Priorities.

  1. Figure out if he's actually sick and do whatever he needs to do to get better.
  2. Make sure Dave's okay.
  3. Figure out- _when_ he is? Dirk supposes?
  4. Deal with his own freakout later.
  5. Try to figure out what caused this.



Having a fucking list in his head makes him feel better and more put together. Okay.

"Dave, do we have a thermometer?" Dirk asks, looking up at Dave, staying as calm as possible. Calm and in control, that's what he needs to be. He needs to act like this situation is totally normal. If he freaks out, Dave will freak out harder.

  
  


Dave can pretend watching Dirk drink water from a bowl is like drinking soup, which is more accurate for them since he doesn't think they have real spoons either. Water soup. It's kind of bizarre for him to be hovering, and he'd leave if he didn't know if he was  _ supposed _ to stay. He thinks he is, because Bro is giving him instructions, and it feels like a Bad Idea to ignore that.

He doesn't know if they have a thermometer, but he knows where one  _ would _ be, so he gives Bro a nod and scampers off to the bathroom. Under the sink is a box Dave has with bandages and creams, technically a first aid kit but filled with miscellaneous swiped items. He digs through the wrappers until he finds a completely unopened thermometer, frowning slightly at it before he's scampering back. He tears the box open as he approaches Bro again, and it causes pause again to see him on the floor like this.

"Here," he stretches his arm out, offering the tool. "This'll work?" It's a question attempted to be a statement.

  
  


Dave comes back with the thermometer and it doesn't escape Dirk's attention that he's opening it as he approaches him. It's never been used before? Has Dave never gotten sick? Or-

Stop that. Maybe the old one broke. Don't leap to conclusions.

Dirk just nods a little, taking it and sticking it in his mouth. He shifts to sit against the counter, stretching his legs out as he waits for the thermometer to beep. Eventually though, it does, and he takes it out.

101.7. Hm. Great. That's what he needs right now, being sick.

Dirk purses his lips a bit. No wonder his body feels- fuck, not his body,  _ Bro's _ body, he's gotta stop thinking that- no wonder  _ Bro's _ body feels out of wack, his joints hurt and shit not because he's trying to get use to them- but because he's  _ sick _ .

Right. Time to stop being on the floor. There's a bucket of puke to deal with and Dirk is not about to make his little  _ (he's so small) _ brother deal with it.

However, he has no fucking clue where anything is. Holy shit.

"Dave." He says. "We got trashbags anywhere?"

  
  


Dave is still watching, trying to hide the curiosity he has for what's going on. He tries to lean imperceptibly closer when the thermometer beeps, reading the number to himself. Fuck is that high? Your mouth is like 96 degrees but doesn't 103 cook your brain from the inside out? 

The questions are  _ really _ throwing him off. At first he thought it was simply because he didn't want to get up and get shit, but now Dave feels like he doesn't know where it is. He nods anyway, but he can't help but blurt out, "Are you dying? You have to tell me if you are. You're contractually obligated." It's partially in fear; he doesn't mean to run his mouth, he  _ thinks _ , except this would absolutely be the moment Bro would reveal the intent of the game and a strife would commence. This is when he'd flashstep to Dave to test how quick he could get out his specibus.

Except Bro doesn't do that. He sits against the counters on the floor, looking very long and splayed, like a crumpled marionette. Dave  _ doesn't like it _ .

  
  


"I'm not dying." Dirk says, immediately. He just has a fever. He'll be fine, he probably just needs to sleep and sweat it out. It might even be heart-related bullshit in which case he  _ definitely _ needs to sleep and sort that shit out. "It's just a fever, Dave. No contract breaking in this household."

He takes a breath and hates how it feels different. "Get me three trashbags." He says.

That sounds a  _ bit _ better, a little more normal, but it's definitely off. He does what he's told anyway, side-stepping the bucket with a wrinkle of his nose. He opens a bottom cupboard to grab some bags haphazardly thrown in, not even a box or other bag to keep them nicer, and it's the closest Dave has gotten so far.

"You look like shit," he says anyway. Is he  _ pressing his luck now? _ But surely Bro will react in a regular way  _ now _ .

  
  
  


"Not surprised." Dirk says. "Feel like shit." He takes the bags, puts the entire paint can in the bag, ties it off, and then takes  _ that _ bag, puts it in another bag, and ties it off. Double-bagged paint can full of puke.

Disgusting.

"Drops this by the door, I'll deal with it later." Dirk says.  _ Once I know where your dumpster is and don't feel like shit. _ He takes a breath and decides to try and get to his feet. He shifts, reaches up- overshoots just the  _ tiniest _ bit, fuck, arms are still too long, grabs the edge of the counter and hauls himself up to his feet.

Okay. Still too tall. Compartmentalizing. He takes a breath and his head is  _ throbbing _ . He's so fucking hot. God dammit.

  
  


Dave scrunches his whole face, he can't help it.  _ Why isn't he doing what he's supposed to be doing? _ He's really hung up on this, used to the structure of the non-structure, sure, but relying heavily on  _ just how his guardian behaves _ . 

He doesn't touch the bag at first, watching his Bro try to move instead, like a drunken baby cow, and it'd be a little funny if it wasn't so terrifying _wrong_. How'd he even get _sick?_ There's still a part of him waiting for a clue, for a movement, and his movements are careful of it. When he finally grabs the handle of the bag and takes it to the door, he's hyper-aware of the sounds of Bro moving and finding his stance, how his breathing is.

  
  


Dirk leans against the counter, trying to catch his breath and find his balance. Okay. Higher center of gravity. That's fine. He can deal with this.

He looks up and takes in the state of the apartment.

It's. A mess. There are those weird puppets fucking  _ everywhere _ . Cords all over the place, are those  _ cinderblocks? _ Every inch of the apartment is fucking a disaster zone that makes Dirk crave to clean and organize and make it  _ safe for a kid _ , holy shit.

Dave hauls the bag over to the door, thanks, little brother, and Dirk takes an experimental step while Dave's back is turned.

Okay. He doesn't fall on his face. That's a good sign. He lets go of the counter and takes another step and wow yeah okay not that good he needs to hold the counter as his legs threaten to give out on him.

Okay. Fuck. He can do this. He's just got to get to Bro's room and get horizontal.

......Bro's room, which he has no idea where it is. Fuck.

Well, it doesn't matter because he's going down again and this time he can't catch himself in time because his legs are giving out completely.

Dirk, meet floor. His shades go scattering across the floor and he's-

Oh.

He passes out.

  
  


He can hear every step Bro is taking, or attempting. He can hear him gripping the counter. He can hear him  _ breathing _ .

And then he's hearing him go down, watching as his body says "fuck you" to gravity and start making love to the floor.  _ Holy shit! _ He runs to Bro, hands sporadic, unsure what to do. This was  _ never _ part of training, what the hell! He steps around the scattered shades, careful not to break them with his feet, moving closer to his prone form. He really  _ does _ look like shit.

He gently kicks him with his foot. Nothing,  _ nothing! _ "Bro!" He tries next, pushing at his shoulder. What if he pukes while passed out? You're supposed to keep people on their side right? Or is stomach okay?

"Holy fuck. Okay. Fuck. It's fine. People get sick. Normal people get sick. It just caught up with him, he's just been dodging the fuck out of it this whole time but now it's like, it's Final Form and it's probably using cheat codes." The words just spill out of him, frantic and stressed, and when Bro  _ still _ doesn't react the only thing he can think of to do is wait. There's no one to call, and hospitals are for pussies. 

After a few moments, he finds himself grabbing a random smuppet from the couch and, with utmost care and calculation, pushes it under Bro's head as a pillow. Then he's moving a small distance away, sitting on the floor and waiting.

  
  


Dirk doesn't normally dream. Not since Godtier. He's always figured it's a side effect of being, well. Godtier. The times he  _ has _ dreamt, it's always had something to do with his heart powers, generally to do with his splinters.

So, when he dreams this time, he's not overly surprised about it. Some shit  _ clearly _ happened.

Too bad it doesn't make any fucking sense. Cold steel on steel on steel in an endless maze of sword blades that he's running through forever.

A sword polished enough to be a mirror, but instead of him, it shows Bro.

Great. Helpful. Nothing he didn't already know.

Bro reaches through the mirror, grabs Dirk's throat- Bro's jaw unhinges and he swallows Dirk whole, sinking him down into a dark dark  _ dark _ pit with only a shining pair of blue, glassy eyes in the dark that  _ radiate _ malevolence, prompting Dirk to wake.

What the  _ ever-loving fuck _ was that about? Christ. He knows his heart dreams are cryptic but Jesus fuck.

He opens his eyes, or rather,  _ tries _ to, but his eyes don't want to open on the account of being pushed into something soft and fuzzy. He's still on the floor. There's something soft under his head. He doesn't have his shades on.

..........he's still in Bro's body. In the foreign Strider apartment. Great.

Dave.

He can hear soft breathing, nearby. He slides his hands up and gets them under himself. He has no fucking idea how long he's been out.

He pushes himself up to an almost- kneeling position. "How long was I out?" He asks.

  
  


Dave doesn’t move the entire time Bro is out, keeping an eye on how his chest moves, if he twitches (but no, he's always still), if he seems like he's gonna vom. He's on high alert when Bro makes any indication of moving, straightening his back as he watches him get to his knees. 

"About an hour," he tells him dutifully, his internal clock pretty damn good, though his gaze flits to the microwave display to double check. "You didn't move."

Dave thought about moving, maybe going to his room,  _ maybe _ telling his friends what happened and see what they thought he should do before he remembered;

-They'd probably tell him to call the cops

-Bro might expect Dave to wait

He's had to do patience tests for his whole life, it could be because of this, or this could be another one.

  
  


About an hour. Okay. That means he probably passed out from fever shit and not because of soul shit. Right?

Dirk looks down at the... plush toy that had been pushed underneath his head as a makeshift pillow. Huh. Dave really is a good kid.

"Shades." Dirk says, holding a hand out for them. Once Dave drops them in his hand he slips them on and forces himself to his feet, staying upright through  _ sheer fucking willpower _ god dammit. He's not going to fucking collapse again until he is collapsing face first into a fucking bed.

Well, at least the layout of the apartment is easy enough. There's only one hallway so that's where Bro's bedroom has to be.

Maybe he just needs to fucking go for it. Stop thinking and let muscle memory of how to fucking walk without falling onto his face take over. He takes another deep breath and says, "Dave, bring the thermometer, water, and trash bag."

He pushes off the counter and okay yeah he feels like shit but by not overthinking about how everything feels wrong and different he's able to walk relatively normally over to the hallway. He pauses to lean against the wall as a wave if vertigo hits him.

Okay. Slightly-open door. Door open to bathroom. Closed door. Dirk is going to take a wild fucking guess and say that the closed door is probably Bro's. He opens it.

He's not sure what he's expecting. Dirk knows immediately, instinctively, that this is Bro's room because it's like looking in a mirror of his own bedroom when he was a kid except it's completely different. He doesn't know how else to describe it. There are those same plush toys everywhere and swords and an impressive looking computer setup. And a bed. Thank fucking christ. There's no bed frame, just a mattress, but Dirk could not give less of a shit, he grew up on no bed frame and just because Roxy got him one in a well-meaning attempt to "bring him into the modern era, Di-Stri, you don't need to have your bed on the ground anymore like a caveman" doesn't mean he's suddenly too prissy to lie on a bed without a bed frame.

Fuck. He needs to get horizontal right fucking now before he rambles himself into unconsciousness.

He makes it to the bed, pulls his shades off, and drops into it. He's out in fucking seconds, fever gripping him and yanking him into sleep.

Thank fucking Christ he doesn't dream this time.

  
  


Dave watches this whole affair. It's like his Bro is having an inward fight with his own muscles, his own network of synapses, and for some reason that's a grotesque thought when once it would have fascinated him. Like the body in front of him is dark, but struck through with sharp, intrusive, blue, all jagged and blinding with every step Bro is taking.

Dave can't shake the image away even when he tries to put his attention on the items instead, rinsing out the bowl before refilling it  _ (maybe he should find that aj bottle, fill it instead, that'd be less awful) _ , and swiping up the rest to head to the back where Bro's  _ room _ was.

He hesitates at the threshold.  _ Bro's Room _ . The one place that's  _ completely _ off limits. Bro usually sleeps in his space, where all his cool shit is and the TV, next to the kitchen. Dave usually has to sneak around there, it's part of the training, but it's been The Rule that he dare not even look at the door. 

Once, when he was much much younger, he was curious enough to try to take a peek. He hadn't even made it to the door. It was one of the most brutal beatdowns of his life.

When he finally takes that step, it's almost about what he expected? It looks similar to the rest of the house, but there's a mattress too. There's no awe here, just incredibly thick tension as he sets the water next to Dirk's shades, the thermometer next, and he can't help but stare at Bro's passed out face again. 

Bro's never slept without the shades either. That's all Dave has ever known, is that shape above a sharp nose, everything angles, to the point he wouldn't be surprised if Bro didn't have eyes at all  _ (not like a ghoul _ , he tells himself,  _ like a cool cyborg or some shit) _ . But here they are, round and closed and  _ human _ and Dave shakes his head before setting the bag on the floor near Bro's head, leaving the room rather quickly after that.

It felt like a dismissal, for some reason, Bro retiring in there instead of his graceful-as-fuck fall earlier, yet he keeps both doors open as he retreats to his own room. He's never done this either, his door always stays shut, but… but…

He glances at his screen, where his friends are waiting. He can't focus on them, can't fathom speaking to them right now. Instead he sits on his bed, back to the wall, and waits again for some semblance of normal, until  _ he _ winds up dozing fitfully, even in sleep waiting for sounds or movement.

  
  


Dirk, thankfully, does  _ not _ fucking dream this time. Thank fucking god. He does wake up still feeling like shit, though, so that's not thanking god. He opens his eyes and looks up at the ceiling and yeah. Great.

Not a nightmare, then.

He's really just.... in Bro's body. At some undermined period of time. With a young Dave.

Fuck.

The good news, he supposes, is that sleep's.... made him less.... weird? In his body, or something? He certainly feels a lot more comfortable than before sleep. It's like his brain's actually adapted to being too-long-limbed, too-broad-shouldered and so on and so forth.

At least he hopes so. He doesn't want to stumble around like a drunken idiot. He might be sick but god dammit he can at least be a  _ functional _ sick person.

He shifts to look over and find his glasses- yeah, there they are- grabbing them and slipping them onto his face. He can see that the door is open, and... Dave's in the other bedroom, on his bed. He's got his head lolled to one side, so he's probably asleep sitting up.

Poor kid. He's probably confused and alarmed at his Bro getting sick and basically eating shit in front of him. Fuck, from what Dirk vaguely remembers about Dave telling him about Bro, Bro was a pretty stoic motherfucker. A blank fucking wall. Dirk is absolutely not going to be able to do that.

He sits up slowly and realizes that he barely makes a fucking sound while doing it. Clearly muscle memory or some shit has kicked right the fuck in because Dirk has never made this little sound in his entire fucking  _ life _ . He swipes the thermometer, shoves it into his mouth, and waits for it to beep.

100.9. Okay. Fever's still there, but it's down. That's good.

He folds his legs and sits on Bro's bed cross-legged, trying to turn information over in his head.

He's pretty fucking sure that he killed Bro. That sliver, that cold, sharp, (dare he say it)-

_ emotionless _

-sliver? He's pretty fucking sure that was Bro.

That begs the question- how the fuck did Bro  _ get _ like that? That wasn't anywhere near an entire soul. Not by half. It was a tiny thing full of spikes and claws and a grim determination, but yet when faced with the whole, with Dirk drawing it close, it just. Crumbled.

That tells Dirk a distressingly large amount of information about Bro that he kinda wishes he didn't know.

He gets up. This is silent as hell and not going to lie? Kinda freaky.

Checking the clock, it's  _ definitely _ a lot later than when he fell into bed. Also he has a distinct memory of it being light out and it is very much not that anymore.

He slips out of the room, shutting the door (silently, god, what the fuck, why does Bro  _ move like this _ -) and checking in on Dave.

Dave doesn't really react when Dirk stands in the doorway. That position  _ can't _ be good for his neck. He steps silently into the room and over to the bed. It's simple enough to just.... pick Dave up (he feels like he weighs nothing, geez- how  _ strong _ is Bro?) and settle him under the covers, tucking him in.

Man. Dirk's such a fucking sap. He can't really help it, honestly- Dave-  _ his _ Dave, wow isn't  _ that _ a fucking kicker to think of- is always trying to help him be more comfortable around everyone else, making sure he doesn't fall out of contact, dragging him out of his own head all the time.

Basically acting like an older brother should. It's fair enough for Dirk to return the favor for this younger version of himself. So he tucks Dave in and slips from the room and goes out to the main area of the aparment to take a look.

It's. Kind of a disaster zone. Dirk was messy as fuck when he was younger- mostly because he knew it didn't really matter. Chaos screaming in the fact of apathetic entropy. Once they were out of the game, though, he found a certain vicious pleasure in keeping things neat and in order. Things are easy. They at least stay where you put them and don't get upset if you forget about them for stretches of time.

He's well aware of the irony of the 'leader' of his session becoming the one most in the background in the aftermath. It's not even the cool kind of irony.

This apartment  _ screams _ of how Dirk was when he was younger only- wow, okay, yeah, how did he fucking forget the name of the fucking  _ smuppets? _ Looking at them, they're all the fuck over the place and he...

...can't fucking believe how fucking  _ many _ of them there are, holy shit.

Okay. Priorities.

  1. Make sure Dave is okay -> Dave's asleep and fine
  2. Figure out when he is -> Dave's at least 9? Probably? This is a rough guess Dirk has no fucking clue other than "not toddler"
  3. Figure out how he got here and if he's getting back -> Oh boy that's a scary one.
  4. Deal with the garbage bag of puke
  5. Eat something because holy shit his stomach is suddenly trying to devour itself
  6. Make a better plan from here



He doesn't want to think about 3. Oh god he does not want to think about 3 but he has to because he  _ fucking killed Bro _ which means.

Which means. If he goes back.

Dave will.... probably be left with an empty husk of a guardian.

Fuck. God. He can't do that to Dave.

He's probably not going home. Dirk deals with this sudden wave of cripplingly strong grief by boxing it up and going over and picking up the garbage bag and leaving the apartment.

He can just. Walk down the stairs. Find the dumpster.

Going outside is a moment of intense vertigo.

It's Earth. With people. With... real people in houses around him. World C was nice, but it wasn't the Earth he left behind that he never  _ really _ knew.

He might be about to have an existential crisis. He bottles that up like a motherfucker and finds the garbage bin. He summarily dumps the puke bag, his boxed up grief, and his bottled up existential crisis by dumping them all into the garbage bin. One literally, two metaphorically.

Then he goes back upstairs.

The apartment is just as messy as when he left. Check priority list.

  1. Make sure Dave is okay -> Dave's asleep and fine
  2. Figure out when he is -> Dave's at least 9? Probably? This is a rough guess Dirk has no fucking clue other than "not toddler"
  3. Figure out how he got here and a way to go home that's not happening
  4. Deal with the garbage bag of puke done
  5. Eat something because holy shit his stomach is suddenly trying to devour itself
  6. Make a better plan from here



Okay. Bumping 5 up to #2 because wow yeah he's fucking  _ starving _ .

Dirk checks the kitchen.

What the fuck?

No, seriously, what the fuck. The first cupboard has fucking smuppets, the second has a fuck ton of knives, the third one has an unholy collecton of dishes wedged inside that Dirk barely manages to stop from crashing to the ground by shutting the cupboard in about a half second.

What the  _ fuck??? _

Has he gotten dropped into a parallel universe where kitchens just  _ aren't used for food _ anymore??????

He eyes the fridge. Cracks it open just a tiny bit.

Swords.

Just. Swords.

Dirk closes the fridge and stares off into space. Fights the urge to break something.

Bro kept fucking  _ swords in the fridge. _

There's something hot and dangerous building in his chest and Dirk has to take a couple of breaths to force himself to calm down.

Dave's been living with fucking swords in the fridge.

Dirk's gaze travels to the sword in the wall. The shurikens stuck in the fridge.

He feels very very calm, now. So calm. Glacier calm.

He's very glad that Bro's splinter isn't here anymore. He's not sure what would be happening right now if it was.

Okay. New priority list.

  1. Make sure Dave is okay -> Dave's asleep and fine
  2. Go buy food
  3. Clean up the kitchen
  4. Sort Bro's shit out
  5. Figure everything else out



Does Bro have a wallet? He does. It's in his pocket. Time to figure out where the fuck the store is. There's Bro's phone, cool.

Number lock. Fuck.

Okay. His birthday, no, Dave's birthday, no-

Would he... would he know somehow?

0413 opens the phone. Okay. Fuck. Okay, that's. Something to think about later. Priorities.

Dirk looks through the phone, finds a lot of fucking shit that he isn't going to fucking look at right now, and finds the mapping app. Finds the closest goddamn grocery store and since it is in walking distance he's going to go there and buy some real goddamn food to put in this house.

Food that will  _ go in the kitchen where it belongs. _

He leaves the apartment.

The grocery store is an. Experience. He thought he was largely over the uneasiness that the grocery stores on World C brought- it's always made him feel like shit to look at all the food on the shelves and think about how fucking quickly it would all go bad, how it always felt like there was a disgustingly high overabundance of food and how this much food back on Earth would have been a luxury that would have all spoiled before he could even touch a tenth of it.

Thankfully it's nighttime so... largely there's no one there to witness him having a silent internal breakdown about how many kinds of soup there are.

Compartmentalize. It's normal. There's nothing to freak out about.

He gets some basics. Bread. Butter. Jelly and peanut butter. Soup. Milk. Actually, no milk. No, he gets milk. Does he get 2%? Whole? Skim? Fuck. He picks the red capped one and tries not to think about the details. Some orange soda because jesus fuck he needs something familiar. Apple juice since that's Dave's holy grail drink, surely that's the same.

Does he get meat? Should he? Dirk doesn't really know how to cook. It can't be that hard, right? He's not going to get instant meals, that's for sure- that feels like an insult, somehow. Do they have pots and pans?

_ Does their stove even work? _

Dirk decides not to get meat. Mac n cheese, John would make that fairly often, it looks easy from what he remembers. Does he get vegetables? Kids are supposed to eat those, right? He doesn't know shit about nutrition.

Dirk has another silent breakdown standing in the frozen foods looking at all the different fucking kinds of pizza. Oh my god. What the fuck.  He's not going home he's thinking like an older brother, concerned for Dave's fucking  _ eating habits _ .

He blindly grabs three frozen pizzas. He's got enough stuff, he has to carry it back after all.

Wait. He still has a fever. He has no idea if they have literally any medicine in the house.

Why are there  _ so many kinds of medicine holy shit. _

Yet another silent freakout. Great. He should keep a tally. One more and he could have a barbershop quartet of freakouts.

Eventually he picks out a couple of things that say 'flu' or 'fever' or 'painkiller' on them and just tosses them all in his basket. Good enough. He can always come back.

The teenager working the register doesn't try to make smalltalk which is good because Dirk doesn't think he can talk in a voice that isn't thick with panic. He swipes Bro's card, holds his breath, and doesn't act relieved when it goes through. Of course it would, he expected it would. He takes the reciept- does he need this? He takes it anyways.

Dirk goes back to the apartment. It's still quiet. He sets the bags down on the counter.

The fridge full of swords stands in his way. If he opens it, they will most certainly fall and wake Dave. If he  _ doesn't _ open it, everything cold will go bad.

He's got no choice. He opens the fridge. He manges to catch a decent amount of them without hurting himself, but a couple of them clatter to the floor in a loud cascade of metal.

Great.

Bro strides over and dumps the swords onto the couch to deal with later, and starts putting things in the now-empty fridge. Dave will probably be out any moment now.

Yeah. He's not looking forwards to this.


	2. Chapter 2

Dave has been trained since he had sentient thought in the way of the blade, of stances and movements. He knows how to move on a dime, to observe surroundings, to position himself for the best views. So why, then, did he not notice being picked up and moved? Why had he not noticed being placed in a more comfortable position?

It’s the obvious loud noise that disturbs him, and it barely registers in his mind that he’s running from a different position than he started, heading to the kitchen and stopping short as-

Bro is moving the swords. He’s moving the swords to his _futon_. Where will he sit when he’s playing video games? “What the fuck are you doing?” He asks, all other pretenses just out the fucking window. He _fell asleep_ and the same shit is happening. His eyes flit to the bags on the floor. “What are those?”

  
  


  
  


Dave comes out, because of course he does, so Dirk drops all pretenses of what he’s doing.

“Cleaning.” Dirk says, grabbing the swords off the floor and dumping them in the pile. He glances down to the bags.

“Groceries.” He says. He almost says _your_ , but catches the word before it leaves. “Something that is severely lacking.”

That said, with the fridge empty, Dirk starts pulling the food out and putting it away.

Fuck, should he have gotten like. Fruit or something? Fruit is important, right? Something about preventing scurvy? Dirk tries to think back if he ever got scurvy. He’s pretty sure he didn’t because Hal-

Oh. Ouch. Okay. There’s something he hadn’t thought about. No Hal. No… anyone.

Dirk slams the lid on that box and shoves it away before any of it can even begin to surface. No need to have Dave see that shit and get any more freaked out than he already is.

  
  


  
  


_Cleaning? **Groceries?**_

“You don’t cook,” he supplies, as if Bro just merely forgot. Maybe his crash landing rattled some shit loose, and he just _forgot_ a few things. He peeks over to the grocery bags, seeing the tops of macaroni boxes, _milk_ of all things, and-

Dave suddenly goes to the bags, pushing the handles aside and staring at the bottle of aj. What the _fuuucckkk?_

He stares back up at Bro, brows furrowed deeply. He… can’t figure out the game. He doesn’t _get_ this. He’s normally figured out the rules by now! He has to focus on something, has to buy himself time, has to _instigate_ maybe. He grabs the macaroni box. “I mean, do you even know how to make this?”

  
  


  
  


_You don’t cook._

Hm. No food in the goddamn apartment, and Bro doesn’t cook. Another thing to add onto the rapidly growing list of shortcomings Dirk is discovering about Bro’s abilities to be a guardian.

“It’s following instructions, Dave.” Dirk says, picking up the milk dropping it into the fridge door shelf. “It’s hardly rocket science.”

He can’t get over the way Dave is watching him, never letting Dirk out of his sight, even as he crouched down to the bags. His shoulders tense.

Dirk’s never been a man quick to anger, but he distinctly feels like he wants to hit something.

  
  


  
  


Right. Duh. Like it would be hard. Like Bro of all people wouldn’t know how to read a _goddamn box_. And yet it feels unfathomable. _When will the shoe drop? When will the shoe_ _ **fucking drop?**_ Eyes refusing to leave Bro, he slowly pushes plastic handles down but he’s not putting anything away. Where would shit even _go?_

“Why did you?” He gesticulates with his hands, he doesn’t know why his brain won’t give him the right words for this. These aren’t even the foods they order!

  
  


  
  


_Why did Dirk **buy groceries**???_

Don’t be angry. Don’t be angry. Holy fuck, anger is _not helping._

Dirk sets the jelly in the fridge to give himself time to think of an answer. That was not enough time to think of an answer.

“Felt like it.” He finally says, picking up the thing of butter and dropping it into the spot where he’s pretty sure butter goes. It’s got that plastic swing down cover, after all.

  
  


  
  


Dave feels the tension. Bro’s response is a little better, it’s short and to the point and demands respect. Dave respects Bro, but…

“You just _suddenly_ felt like acting like a drunk soccer mom?” It just blurts right out, the roiling energy in his chest _demanding_ something happen that goes back to _normal_ , if he could just _pick at it_.

  
  


  
  


“Drunk, no. Soccer mom, perhaps.” The words fall from Dirk’s mouth before he can stop them.

_Maybe you need someone acting like a soccer mom if this is your reaction to the sight of me **buying food**._

He shuts the fridge, scoops up the rest of the bags and dumps them on the counter. He has to put a hand on the counter for a moment as his brain decides to remind him that _hey, uh, moron? You’re still sick?_ and go dizzy.

Right, he should take medicine. He hunts through the bags and finds the one that says fever reducer and cracks it open, not bothering with the measuring cup and just taking a swig right from the bottle.

Wow. That’s simultaneously nasty and also delicious. What the fuck? How did they _do_ that?

He caps the bottle and drops it on the counter, opening the cupboard full of knives and gathering those up to go dump them on the couch as well. He returns and starts shoving the non-perishables away into the cupboard.

“You want mac n cheese?” Dirk asks, since Dave is still holding the box and staring at him.

  
  


  
  


The tightness in his chest just gets tighter, threatening to suffocate him, threatening to drown everything out. Not drunk, maybe sick. Drinking medicine straight from the bottle, actual _medicine_. Removing more weapons, more knives, dumping them in Bro’s space unceremoniously. He can’t stop holding the macaroni box, and when Bro asks him if he wants it, he drops it and steps away from him.

It’s too much. He doesn’t know what the fuck, and maybe he needs to research shit. The crows he’s been feeding have been hanging on the roof more, maybe they gave him bird flu? Another step back, his entire body on high alert. Bro isn’t even reacting to him right. If he can remove himself from the situation then he will, purposefully walking back to the hall, waiting for Bro to come after him for doing so.

  
  


  
  


Dave drops the box and Dirk catches sight of his expression.

Pale. Struggling to be flat. Panicking.

…Dirk _really_ isn’t any good at this. Fuck. He’s definitely fucked everything up, but…

He has a feeling that, even if he knew _how_ to act like Bro-

He still wouldn’t.

Dave is backing away. If Dirk stares at him, he’ll probably feel more panicked.

So Dirk just squats down, picks up the box, and turns away.

Giving Dave his back.

“Let me know if you change your mind.” He says, not looking back at Dave.

  
  


  
  


Yep he’s freaked out. He can officially admit to himself this is officially freaked out. Bro, not _once in Dave’s entire life_ has turned his _fucking_ _ **back**_ to him. He continues backing away and reaches his room, shutting the door slowly and only breathing out when the door clicks shut. “Oh my God, what the fuck this is…. Fuuucckkk.” He goes to his idle computer screen, tapping the spacebar to get it going again.

  
  


–turntechGodhead [TG]  began pestering  tentacleTherapist [TT] 

TG: hey so hypothetically  
TG: you read any weird bullshit in your spooky fucking books or websites about like  
TG: body snatchers or mind melting or  
TG: bird flu  


  
  


He pauses and wonders if he should pester Egbert about this. He’s the one who’s stupid into ghosts. Is this even a ghost thing? Or will John just tell him to fucking call Harold Ramis?

  
  


TT: A quite interesting question.  
TT: There are, of course, numerous accounts of people who claim that their bodies were taken over by mysterious forces outside their control, but it is a phenomenon impossible to prove without the ability to look inside someone’s mind.  
TT: Mind melding in it’s truest sense is only in fiction, but there have been claims of mind reading in the past, though disproven to varying amounts.  
TT: As for bird flu…  
TT: [Link to the CDC’s website about the statistics of bird flu in the united states.]  
TT: Does that satisfy your inquiry?  
TG: once again i am floored by your thoroughness  
TG: yet i am still left questioning  
TG: so thank you for that  
TT: What is the reason for your questioning?  
TT: Has, perhaps, you or one of your loved ones been acting in a manner that is making you turn to such fantastical hypothesis such as body snatchers?  
TG: you caught me its me  
TG: im cross referencing i havent astral projected with a demon bird  
TG: i figured youd at least know more about it  
TG: guess i was wrong but its a specific question no need to beat yourself up over it  
TG: of course if it was someone i knew acting strangely, i suppose you would also be the one i would ask questions to  
TG: being the resident spooky bitch  
TG: so maybe i have a changeling in my vacinity what do i do with that  
TG: do you burn changelings or is it a stake in the heart or  
TG: im not celtic gimme a hint here  
TT: For changelings? The legends vary, of course. I shall take it as a compliment that you expect me to know all such information offhand being the ‘resident spooky bitch’, as you say.  
TT: If you are looking to connect with an avian master, though, that is something I would be more than happy to assist with.  
TT: There are quite a few to choose from.  
TG: i have been looking for that sweet sweet plumage in my life  
TG: ill have to pass for now as tempting as it is  
TG: im focused more on someone acting like a different person literally overnight  
TG: hypothetically  
TG: thats not happening i just want more info  
TG: like sure maybe its supernatural bullshit  
TG: or maybe people just act weird right before they succumb to the diseases of man  
TG: cough cough gotta get it all out before the metamorphosis is complete  
TG: wtf am i even talking about  
TT: Completely hypothetical, of course.  
TT: In the event of a body snatcher, there is no conclusive evidence for methods of removal.  
TT: In most cases, the people under the effects have simply reported it “leaving on it’s own”.  
TT: So if there is a, once again, completely hypothetical body snatcher in your vicinity-  
TT: You simply may have to ride it out.  
TG: right  
TG: provided its not an alien here to take over the world  
TG: hypothetically  
TG: i cant imagine an alien body snatching just to make the youth of america mac n cheese  
TT: Don’t you know, Dave?  
TT: They crave the cheese.  
TT: Hypothetically.  
TG: well damn now im knowledged  
TG: youll turn me into a body snatcher scholar yet  
TG: hypothetically  
TG: and for a double hypothetical all the way across the sky what is your actual recommendation if someone i know is acting fucking bizarre  
TG: im talking hypothetically from this hypothetical  
TT: A double hypothetical reach around? Why, Mr. Strider, you are truly plumbing the depths of hypothetical knowledge with this one.  
TT: Double-hypothetically, would this person be acting in an aggressive manner?  
TG: hypothetically no  
TG: in fact i might as well have martha fucking stewart puttering around at this point  
TT: That is very hypothetically interesting.  
TT: Would there have been any sudden events or traumatic experiences that could have caused this hypothetical personality change?  
TT: Blows to the head? Near death experiences?  
TG: fall to the floor hypothetically  
TG: or bird flu  
TG: either way it was as graceful as a dead duck  
TT: Are they hypothetically slurring their words?  
TT: Rubbing at their chest or arm?  
TG: nah theyre hypothetically cleaning the fridge  
TG: he does keep grabbing the counter  
TG: doesnt walk the same either  
TG: hypothetically  
TT: That certainly sounds very hypothetically strange.  
TT: Would they not have a predisposition towards tidiness before?  
TG: nah their stuff is where their stuff is  
TG: you know when people say their shit is carefully cluttered and they always know exactly where shit is  
TG: minus the part where people think your shit is cluttered the part were focusing on is knowing where everything always is  
TG: and now that got turned flipped upside down and its like looking in a cupboard for a cup and only finding puppets  
TT: Most peculiar.  
TT: A hypothetical fall and a sudden disposition towards cleanliness?  
TT: This hypothetical person may have been replaced with a brownie taking their form.  
TG: those are the ones that like milk yea  
TG: or am i mixing it with all the other spooky shit that likes milk  
TT: Yes, brownies typically appreciate milk if you leave it as a gift.  
TT: But not as payment or it is an insult.  
TG: complicated little shits aint they  
TG: dont think it correlates to the sudden purchasing of kraft i dont even think theres real milk in there  
TG: but if we hypothetically believe something of this nature  
TG: what do i just let it continue sticking its fingers throughout the apartment upheaving everything so it can  
TG: what do brownies do lay eggs  
TG: making nests out of the fucking silverware for its midsummer clutch  
TT: I am not particularly aware of any brownie mating habits but I would say, so long as the behaviors are not dangerous or aggressive, it should be safe to let the being continue its work.  
TT: Hypothetically, of course.  
TG: yea hypothetically  


  
  


Dave pushes away from the computer desk, turning his chair to look at the door. Is this _really_ something he believes? Is it really something _Rose_ believes? Bro didn’t come in, didn’t follow after, so as far as he knows he’s still out there doing his weird shit.

So say it’s some sort of supernatural _thing_ happening here. How long will he have to deal with it before it decides to leave? Will Bro remember anything? If so, should Dave continue what he knows, or adjust to appease an unknown predator?

Both. Both is good.

He gets up from his chair and to his door, peeking down the hallway. Seems sounds are in the kitchen still, so he slowly heads back.

  
  


  
  


In the time that Dave has been gone, Dirk has managed to not only procure a pot of water from somewhere, wiped down the stove after it started smoking when he turned it on (and okay it still smokes but- fuck it, he’s not going to take the stove apart to make food, okay, he’ll just deal with a bit of grease smoke), set the pot of water to boil on the stove, and cleaned off the counters.

There’s now a trash bag of misc. garbage and shit by the front door and a decent pile of smuppets have been added to the blades on the couch.

He’s in the process of dealing with the cupboard stuffed full of dishes when Dave comes back and he glances over, but then decides not to acknowledge him verbally and resumes his task of sorting the dishes out.

Maybe he was talking _too_ much, earlier. Dirk remembers how Bro’s voice felt when he first got dropped in.

That’s not the voice of someone who talks a lot.

  
  


  
  


Dave takes everything in again, what’s different with the kitchen and the front room. There’s smoke on the stove but Bro doesn’t seem to care, because _he_ thinks he’s cooking at least.

And then Dave sees he’s been spotted, yet once again he’s given no indication that the man he knows is even _in_ there. Fuck he did _not_ think he would have to deal with alien magic bullshit in his life, he doesn’t fit the archetype. He’s the cool sword guy hero who goes after the villain who killed his father in revenge, yannow, that kinda shit. This? What is this? Maybe a book Jade would read.

He decides to step closer and try to look him over. He’s not acting so weak he can’t hoist stuff, and he’s definitely made a nest on the futon, but the rest is weird. “So… didn’t like the dishes there either huh?”

…well what else is he supposed to say?

  
  


  
  


Dave hesitantly asks about the dishes as Dirk finishes stacking the last couple of ones onto the counter to re-organize.

“Nope.” He says. Wow. They’re dusty as hell and absolutely need washing.

The sink is full of shit. Dirk stares into it for a moment.

The pot is boiling. Okay. Dirk open the box of mac n cheese and ~~John loved the stuff~~ pull out the cheese packet and dump all the noodles in. He’s not thinking about anything other than getting some food into this fever-addled body right now.

Okay. Sink. Dealing with things. Like an adult.

Wait. Stir the noodles. They don’t have any cooking spoons. Metal will have to do, even though the scraping on the bottom of the pan sets Dirk’s teeth a bit. He does his best to avoid it as he breaks the noodles up.

Okay. Sink. Dirk starts pulling the shit out of the sink.

…do they even have _dish soap?_

  
  


  
  


Okay, simple answer, he can work with that. Dave is still watching, to a point that he _knows_ he would have at least been shooed away by now for being an awkward fuck. Because he hasn’t, he inserts himself further into the kitchen area, trying to peek at the macaroni without being within arm’s distance of Bro, which is a little hard but he manages. It certainly _looks_ normal _(he thinks)_.

“If you’re going to _insist_ on doing five things at once while slowly dying from brain aneurysm, at least give me a fucking task holy shit.” Once again testing boundaries, testing response. Maybe Rose would get more of a kick out of this if he truly decides this is _not Bro_.

Dave doesn’t know how to cook either, or clean. So really this is all unexplored territory for him. He’s just hacking through the " _fuck this shit_ jungle" looking for the goddamn prize. But if Bro can’t even juggle, Dave can… let him know he can be his wingman? Offer to at least be on standby?

  
  


  
  


Dave edges closer which is… improvement? Maybe? Dirk can’t really tell, because he’s still never turning away from him in the slightest. He’s still tense, like he’s expecting Dirk to… fuck, to turn and like.

He’s not going to think those words.

“It’s a fever, Dave, not a brain aneurism.” Dirk says, as he looks down into the sink and tries not to grimace.

…okay. That’s. Hm.

Turns out he didn’t really have to try at all. Bro’s face just… apparently doesn’t like emoting.

~~That’s another distressing thought he’s not going to think about right now- did Bro ever even **smile?**~~

He tugs the fingerless gloves off and drops them into his syllaxdex (and fuck, he might as well stop trying to quantify everything as _Bro’s_ , all logic right now says that he won’t be- and _shouldn’t_ be- going back) before rolling up his sleeves.

“Don’t let the pasta stick to the bottom.” Dirk says, after a moment of running the water in the sink. “Stir it.”

If Dave wants to help, then Dirk’ll let him help.

…is it alright for kids to be near the stove? Dirk grew up cooking for himself (well, _‘cooking’_ ) so he has no idea. Whatever. Dave’s a smart kid.

Under the sink there are… more smuppets. A small bucket of cleaning supplies and, thank fuck, a mostly-full bottle of dish soap. At least there was _some_ shit in this goddamn apartment.

It hits Dirk just how bizarre his life has suddenly become over the last… god, not even 24 hours. He’s standing in the kitchen of his brother’s younger self in the body of his brother’s guardian… washing dishes.

Compartmentalize.

Lists are nice. Dirk redoes his.

Take care of Dave.

Clean up the apartment

Figure out Bro’s… everything.

 ~~look for his friends~~ Figure out Bro’s contacts.

Figure… figure everything else out.

“Spoon’s next to the stove. Use that.”

  
  


  
  


Dave reaches for the spoon and frowns at his starchy reflection on the back of it. His brain supplies still how this could be a ~~trap~~ game, perhaps involving inflection and new weapons. A boiling pot of water doesn’t seem as impressive as a shuriken, but Dave bets it’ll hurt just the same. His little hand dips the spoon into the pot to stir, not always scraping the bottom because that sound is _the worst_ what the hell? but still trying to keep the noodles in their own little whirlpool.

Okay. Maybe some simple questions. Deduce the fuck out of this. Either get more info on the creature in his Bro’s body, or maybe even something that proves his Guardian is still in there ~~he doesn’t think past that, of course not, why wouldn’t he want things to go back to normal his Bro is cool~~.

“Have you ever made this before or are you literally winging it?”

  
  


  
  


Dave’s following instructions to stir the noodles and Dirk tries not to wince with each scrape, but Dave must hate it too because after the first couple Dirk barely hears any.

“Made it once before.” Dirk says, as he starts to scrub the dishes. There’s no dishrack. Fuck he’ll just… stack them on a towel. That works.

“Can’t be that hard.” Keep it simple. Dave might respond better to that. Dirk could start talking more gradually-

Ha. Haha. Fuck. He’s so fucked. He’s going to have to _plan long term shit_ to take care of Dave he is not fucking prepared to do this at all. He’s thankful he has something to do with his hands to hide the tiny little trembles that run through them.

  
  


  
  


The smaller sentences and short explanations _are_ helpful, and while it doesn’t cause his Guard to go down, it does at least settle his gut somewhat. It doesn’t answer questions; he could make his mind go in infinite circles of questioning, trying to plan and pre-plan his conversations, trying to predict how the other will answer so he knows how to change the script. Least-case scenario, Bro really _is_ just sick and once it passes he’ll go back to normal, and the actions Dave does here will reflect that after the fact.

Worst-case scenario, Bro has been body-snatched, and he either waits it out, or deals with this _thing_ for… _forever_ he guesses.

 _Whoof_.

He swallows, trying to push the thoughts away. Instead he tries to keep his attention on both the swirling noodles and the large man so close to him, gloveless and washing dishes and they’re clinking and stacking and Dave clenches his jaw. “Stop it!”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“He doe-… you don’t need to fucking _wash dishes_ if, if you’re still wanting to barf your guts out.” Wow he should have kept his mouth shut.

  
  


  
  


Dirk, of course, catches Dave’s slip up.

 _He_.

Well. Not even 24 hours and Dave’s already caught on that something’s wrong. That’s probably to be expected. Dirk’s not exactly a good actor as it is and, well, he has no idea how Bro acts.

“I’m not going to puke again.” Dirk says calmly, not looking over at Dave. He hasn’t missed that having direct attention makes Dave tense up.

Christ. It’s not like he can just say ‘yeah I’m a different version of your brother shoved into his body and I’m probably here to stay’, now can he?

That’ll probably have Dave reaching for the closest knife to defend himself, convinced his brother’s gone mad.

“I’m washing dishes because I want to.”

Simple sentences. Short explanations. Dirk has no idea if that’ll make things better or worse.

  
  


  
  


_Shit_. He’s speaking calmly and not looking at him and he’s _so fucked_ , Dave pushed a boundary-

And then Bro does nothing still. Technically, _technically_ that’s a pretty fuckin’ valid excuse. Why does Bro do anything? _Because he wants to_. Maybe fevers make you want to clean whatever germ was in your space. _That’s_ a question for ol’ Jeeves.

Dave still doesn’t like it, but he glances back at the swirling, swirling, swirling ~~towards freedom~~ fucking pasta just having their grand ol’ opery in the hot tub of slime. It smells like bread for some reason. Like wet bread.

“…do you know when it’s supposed to be done?” Maybe a regular question to make the Bro ~~(should he even be calling it Bro?)~~ speak more, give itself up.

  
  


  
  


Dirk glances at the box. “Nine to eleven minutes.” He says. “Four more.”

He looks back to the sink and starts in on the four cups that were in the cupboard. At least they have cups now.

…do they have a strainer? Fuck it. He’ll just pour the water out himself.

He has a feeling he shouldn’t try to make smalltalk. All of his attention is on Dave- and yet he can’t look his way. He needs to figure out this new, strange, young Dave’s tells and emotes and adjust his behaviors accordingly.

Looking at Dave- it’s-

It’s _weird._

He’s Dave- but he looks like he’s not quite… finished yet. Strange in his lack of things and the way his face is squishy and his limbs are strangely proportioned.

Dirk will have to get used to it. That’s all it is.

  
  


  
  


Dave can get behind a time focus. Four minutes. He decides to spin the noodles counter-clockwise quite suddenly, causing the noodles to make wet squishy sounds of distress as they are forced to tidal and start spinning in opposite. He doesn’t know if it will help them stop from sticking, but he can anthropomorphize the situation into something bizarre but _normal_ for him. Tiny swimmers fulminating their predicament, forever trapped in the roiling torrents of boiling waves. They reach for the edge and slip from the grasp.

The stupid noodles are transfixing, and he allows the ambient sounds to take over instead of dialogue. The sink, the stove, the micro screams of semolina and egg in new SpongeBob SquarePants shapes _holy fuck what if Bro had really brought that back instead?_ He would have had to commit Sudoku right then and there in order to wake up from this… whatever this is.

Dave looks back at Bro when the four minutes are up, wondering if he’s the one dedicated to breaking the silence. The thing pretending to be him _does_ seem to respond if he says something first.

“Alright Julia Child, now what?”

  
  


  
  


Dirk gets through a decent chunk of the dishes before Dave says time’s up. He can’t help the low, amused noise in his throat at the question. Fucking Julia Child, one of the few bastions of hope in the future standing up to the Batterwitch in defense of proper cooking everywhere.

Never cross that woman with a knife in her hand, or so the legends said.

Wordlessly, he pulls his hands out of the sink and flicks the worst of the water off. He shoos Dave aside, turns off the stove, and carefully tips as much of the water out of the pot as he can get without losing more than like… a dozen noodles.

Then back onto the (turned off) burner it goes, in goes the butter, and Dirk says “stir till that’s melted.”

Then he finishes up the dishes.

  
  


  
  


Dave is hopping away deftly when he’s shooed, and yet Bro’s attention is absolutely on the food, and the cleaning than him. He moves close, observing how Bro drains the water, unafraid of the heat and scalding steam ~~that’s normal~~. He gives him another command, and then goes the butter ~~oh fuck another dairy sign~~ but Dave approaches the pot again and stirs.

That fucking squishing sound is amplified now. It’s like rubbing your fucking eyes when you first wake up, all slimy and thick, and the butter adds to the viscosity. He visibly frowns at this, but is still dutiful.

Once he’s sure the butter is absorbed or melted or whatever the fuck it’s doing, he turns to watch Bro finish the dishes. He’s still frowning. “If the rest of this shit is dumping and stirring you can just tell me, instead of doing it for me. I _can_ read and shit.” _Just don’t ask him to do fractions._

  
  


  
  


“Sure.” Dirk agrees. “Little bit of milk, like-” He pauses. They don’t have measuring cups, at least not that he’s seen, “whatever, just a decent splash like you’re trying to soak a dollar bill.”

…what the fuck was that explanation.

“Add cheese and stir till it’s all mixed together.” Dirk finishes. He scrubs off the last couple bowls and rinses them and stacks them to dry and

Okay. He doesn’t have another task yet and he is not going to sit here and stare at Dave when Dave’s already dealing with enough weird shit from his guardian right now.

So he drains the sink and rises his hands off and then shakes the water off and tugs his gloves back on and goes to the next cupboard.

Smuppets. Collect them and bring them over to the couch.

Dirk still wants to hit something. Bring productive is better ~~and will hopefully scare Dave less~~.

  
  


  
  


“ _-like you’re trying to soak a-_ What the fuck kind of explanation is that? Who is trying to soak fucking dollar bills???” Dave takes the milk but he’s giving Bro an incredulous look before he does it. “I doubt that has ever been written in any recipe book.” Maybe it should. _How to Cook for Dumbasses Who Can’t Math_.

He rips open the cheese powder packet and stops to sniff it; it doesn’t smell like mac ‘n cheese _or_ any other kind of processed cheese product he’s eaten, so he chances taking a taste of it while Bro is hopefully not looking. At this point, Dave feels like he’s constantly testing what he can get away with, or what he _wants_ to get away with now in case it comes back to bite him later.

Hm. Does _not_ taste like cheetos so it’s probably a fucking wash, but he finishes stirring everything in anyway until it’s a pot of neon orange eyeball soup- augh he has _got_ to stop with the Associative fucking bullshit, he does _not_ want to think about eyes while eating dinner!

  
  


  
  


Dirk has to hold back an amused snort at Dave’s words. Hey, it got his point across, didn’t it? And that might be the most amount of non-uneasy words he’s heard Dave say all at once since he got here.

Maybe humor is the way to go. Something something from a Roxy ramble something humor bringing people together to let them connect or something.

~~Oh. Ouch. Roxy. That hurts.~~

He goes through the under-the-counter cupboards as Dave finishes mixing the mac n cheese. More weapons, more smuppets- holy shit they do have a strainer, also a cheese grater, okay, and like… two pans, two bowls, a beater but no actual… Dirk doesn’t know what they’re called, the parts that actually do the beating, another pot, a collection of… really really weird plastic bowls and silverware. They have like… cutesy animals on them.

Holy shit, is this _baby_ stuff? What the hell? It’s dusty as shit, it must have been shoved in here and forgotten about.

Dirk dumps all the actual kitchen shit on the counter. Something about the baby bowls is twisting his stomach unhappily. He can’t put his finger on it.

“Done?” He asks, glancing at Dave to distract himself from the weird, gut-churning sensation that’s slowly washing over him in a cold, chest-gripping sensation.

  
  


  
  


Dave glances at him with a nod, thankful to be done stirring the atrocity. It’s gonna taste pretty fucking good he reckons, but _god_ the sounds in order to prepare it. He looks from the meal to Bro again. “You’re really going to eat this?” Again, when they _do_ order food it’s not this. Dave has _had_ macaroni before but it was usually frozen, and Bro never picked it. He’s a strong buff dude, he needs protein or whatever, dude probably only drinks protein shakes and eats broccoli beef.

He’s stopped when he sees Bro take out the kid dishes. What the _fuck_. Where the hell? _What_ the hell? Obviously and deductively (is that a word, Dave? Add it to the vernacular) they were probably from when _he_ was small. But he doesn’t remember them at all, not a single memory connected. So to him, these are just weird and maybe even go along with the Smuppet Baby shit. “Uh. Yea. I’m not eating out of those.” Bro can hit him for that, fine, whatever, but he won’t do it.

  
  


  
  


“Wouldn’t make you.” Dirk says absent-mindedly, but his hand is gripping one of the bowls and he can’t seem to let it go.

This is fucking weird. What the fuck is happening.

The tightness in his chest is growing. It’s cold, flooding through his body and up his spine.

Up to his

His

Dirk thinks he’s going to be sick again. Standing in the kitchen, clutching this brightly-colored bowl, with a terrifying sensation taking him over.

The sensation of _something trying to fucking latch onto his soul_.

Dirk turns around.

There, in the corner, is Lil’ Cal.

“Dave.” Dirk says, very very very calmly. Ice calm. “Go to your room.”

Dirk’s Lil’ Cal was empty. At the time he didn’t understand what that meant.

  
  


He understands now.

  
  


  
  


He says he wouldn’t make him, yet he spends a stupid amount of time staring at the damn things. Dave honestly would eat out of anything if Bro said to, especially if it was supposed to be for the irony, but he can’t figure out what’s ironic about kiddy bowls.

Bro seems to be staring _too much_ at the dish, and Dave starts to wonder if the guy is going to pass out or throw up again when he’s suddenly turning around. Dave turns too, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Well, except for all the swords and felt on the futon, but he means _besides_ that.

But then Dave hears Bro command him away, to leave the kitchen and what they made, and his surprise is whisked quickly inward so all he can do is look stoic, guarded, prepared. Of course this was a game. Of course there was something going on here. Dave does as he’s told, his stomach growling in protest that he ignores, always ignores it, and hides back in his room with the door shut.

He’s not mad. He’s not. Maybe at himself. Ha ha stupid Dave fell for it. It was a really roundabout way of showing just who was in charge here, that Bro could do anything he wanted and Dave needed to shut up and live with it. It’s contrasting, it’s confusing, he still _doesn’t get it_ , but at least it makes more sense now. He’s never gone so far as having Dave _make the food_ before denying it to him, though, but he obviously must have failed some test.

He slumps in his computer chair, curling up in the worn out seat and forcing the hunger pangs to go away. _Fuck off, it’s not happening, stop being a little bitch_.

  
  


  
  


Dirk barely acknowledges Dave leaving except for a faint _good, he’s out of the way._

Lil’ Cal stares at him. Unmoving. Eyes glossy. A puppet.

And full of malice.

Full of familiar, _familiar_ malice.

Malice that is trying to latch onto Dirk.

Onto his _soul_.

Is this what Dave grew up with?

… is this what _Bro_ grew up with?

Lil’ Cal’s malice is acidic. Corrosive. Now that he’s aware of it, he’s feeling it- he can feel it like whispers in the back of his mind. Too low to be made out, just barely too soft to be understood- but hateful.

It’s a shame for this creation of cherub juju that Dirk is a fully realized Prince of Heart.

Dirk takes slow, deliberate steps across the room until he’s standing in front of Lil’ Cal.

It, of course, does not move.

Dirk picks it up.

Immediately it’s malice swells. It hangs limply in his hands, but it’s like an oil slick trying to slide up into him through his veins. Dirk slaps it off with a little snapping lash of power.

The aura draws back like it’s affronted. It probably is. Bro would have had no ability to react to it.

Dirk stares down at Lil’ Cal.

…he shouldn’t be in the apartment for this. Dirk doesn’t know what will happen- but he wont have it in the space where Dave exists.

He makes his way up to the roof and stands under the dark sky. The horizon is that kind of weird color that precedes the sun rising.

Poetic. Or something.

_Night never had the last word. The dawn is always invincible._  
_-Robin Williams_

Dirk is certain that Robin Williams said that.

Regardless, he stares down at Lil’ Cal.

“If I were more of a proud, grandstanding bastard, I would make a speech right now.” Dirk says, staring down at the juju as it’s malice writhes and twists in the air around them.

“It’s a good thing I’m not that stupid.”

Dirk’s powers bubble up through him and twist and lance and _tear_ into the juju. Crackling pink energy around his hands as his aspect is made physical to fulfill it’s purpose as a Prince.

The juju might not be a soul in the truest sense- but Dirk’s already helped defeat it’s master once.

The juju crumples in on itself under the assault.

Then it explodes.

In the most technical, physical sense, it doesn’t do anything at all.

Some of the shine leaves it’s eyes. It’s stuffing seems a little flatter. The cloth not quite as bright.

In the metaphysical sense, it’s like a fucking supernova. The hairs on Dirk’s arms stand on end as a terrible, overwhelming _hatred_ and rage and _ENTITLEMENT_ pours out of Lil’ Cal as Dirk’s aspect does it’s

_fucking job_

and tears the goddamn thing

to

shreds.

Dirk is able to bat the malice away as it floods out and reaches for his soul, a howling feeling of _HOW DARE YOU_ , of _YOU CANNOT STOP ME_ , of _I AM A_ _ **LORD**_ _-_

Yeah, yeah.

Dirk’s seen it.

He’s not impressed.

He stands strong as the juju washes past him, striking him cold to the core.

Then it’s gone. Dispersed to the winds.

Dirk is left holding Lil’ Cal.

It’s just a puppet, now.

He draws his sword. He spins it in his hand. It fits perfectly into his hand, familiar and foreign all at once. Bro’s body remembers, even if Dirk’s mind is unfamiliar with how the pieces fit together.

He tosses Lil’ Cal into the air. It’s a bare heartbeat of movement for him to tear it into pieces.

Good riddance. Dirk feels a little better after destroying the damned juju.

~~He’s not going to think about the implications of Dave and Bro both growing up with it. He’s not going to think about the implications of the sheer fucking **malice** the damn thing gave off.~~

~~He’s not going to think about the implications of how fucking smooth and quick Bro’s body moves, how it’s fucking **built** for fighting.~~

~~Dirk isn’t thinking about a lot of things right now.~~

Dirk puts his sword away and turns to go back downstairs.

  
  


  
  


Dave doesn’t know how long he sits curled in his chair (yes he does) before he finds himself slowly lifting his head from his knees and staring at… nothing? in his room. The door? As he starts to look around, he realizes he’s not actually looking for anything; somehow, in a way Dave hadn’t detected before, his walls and floor were amassed with the cloyingly malevolent omnipresence of _something_. It wasn’t actually on his walls and floor. It wasn’t actually viewable. He couldn’t touch or smell or taste it, and yet that swooping gripping _destructive_ presence was still there all the same.

It’s his brain thing upset, making things oil slick and purple and seeping into his heart and trying to hurt him. Trying to latch on. Fuck that shit, he’s not falling for this. Fuck his stupid brain. Dave curls tighter against the senses he’s not asking for, making himself stifle an exasperated groan. He hates this _he hates this_ _ **he hates this!**_

The sucker-like grip on his psyche tugs, pulls, _yanks_ , one by one letting their latch hook spear break free, until what is perceived as molten, gelatinous lead is eased off of his chest.

Dave gasps in a breath and feels like panicking. Which is fucking _stupid_ , come _on_ brain _nothing is actually happening!_ He slides his legs down and forces himself to stand, forces himself to try to feel something other than his lungs being reached for in some last ditch effort of salvation. He moves to the bed instead, feeling the frustration grow and grow and grow-

He flaps his arms quickly in front of himself, ready to just fucking _punch it out of him_ when it just

goes

away

  
  


Dave leans against the side of his mattress, frowning, the overwhelming sensations sizzling away, the colors and touches leaving. What felt heavy doesn’t feel _light_ , per se, but feels like it can breathe out and expand. He slumps to the floor, resting his head on the side of his mattress next, feeling extremely confused. Did he just have a fucking seizure?

  
  


  
  


Dirk comes downstairs, simultaneously a thousand times lighter and a million times heavier.

Lil’ Cal is gone. Lord English’s influence has been torn apart and banished. That means Dave is free of it.

Bro grew up with that influence. Bro grew up with that malice corrupting his soul and pulling at it.

…Dirk is going to think about that later. He has a lot to think about later.

Including the fact that he might have just ripped a massive hole in paradox space. Without Lil’ Cal Lord English won’t come into existence- which is a paradox, isn’t it? Or something?

Fuck. Well, Dirk doesn’t seem to be dying and the universe hasn’t collapsed so whatever. Another thing to add onto the pile.

He gets back to the kitchen and stares at the mac n cheese. Thinks back to Dave slipping from the kitchen after being ordered out.

…

…

Wow. He forgot to make sure Dave actually… got some.

“I am not fucking cut out for this.” Dirk mutters as he runs a hand over his face.

He can barely manage his fucking _friendships_ , how the hell is he supposed to manage raising a goddamn _kid?_ At least Dave is old enough to be able to take care of himself for the basic shit.

Dirk picks up the most dry bowl out of the clean ones and- fuck, is Dave a fork person or a spoon person? His Dave was a spoon person so- fuck. Okay. Spoon.

Dirk fills the bowl and retrieves a bottle of apple juice and goes to Dave’s room, standing outside the closed door.

…does he knock?

Did _Bro_ knock?

Dirk is so in over his head.

He can’t stand here forever.

He raises the hand holding the apple juice and knocks a couple of times on the door.

  
  


  
  


Dave stays on the floor next to his bed for a while, cheek smushed against the side as he tries to allow his body and mind to just calm down. He hasn’t been overwhelmed like that in a while, and he still chastises himself for it even though he has an excuse for his mini wig out sesh. His hair sticks to his forehead with a thin sheen of sweat, and he feels like he’s just come inside from working out in direct sunlight; too warm, fatigued, prickling from the cooldown, and weirdly dehydrated. How sudden his body reacted to the panic, made his gut twist and churn unpleasantly.

Fuck. Maybe he caught Bro’s fairy flu.

He decides to never mention that he internally called it “fairy flu” lest Bro give him an epic beatdown.

Speaking of; the knock on the door _actually_ startles Dave, causing him to sit up straight and stare at his door with wide eyes. Obviously there’s only one person who would be doing so, but why? Why is Bro knocking now?

Ignoring it, he feels, would be worse than answering it, so he forces himself to stand (and _wow_ his legs are shaky holy fuck) and moves to the door, trying to school his expression before opening the door.

It’s Bro, which he expected. What he doesn’t expect to see is the food in his hands, and his brain immediately screams _TRAP!_ His shades are still on so Bro can’t see his gaze flit to the food hungrily before they’re back on the taller man.

He can feel the panic in his chest tighten again. _He can’t figure out_ _ **the fucking trick.**_

  
  


  
  


Dave opens the door and he looks like shit. His hair is sticking to his forehead from sweat, his face pale- and Dirk is pretty sure he’s seeing the tiniest tremor in Dave’s hands.

Dirk’s stomach drops.

Fuck. Why did he do that anywhere near the goddamn apartment? (Ignoring the question of where would he have _gone_ , of course.) There’s no way Dave _didn’t_ feel that shit from the juju.

Dave doesn’t say anything, he just stands there. Like he doesn’t know what to do. The feeling’s pretty mutual.

Christ. Okay. Dirk has suddenly decided to stop caring about what Bro would or wouldn’t have done because clearly the man was fucked up beyond belief. His soul had been a goddamn _fraction_ of a soul. He was barely there.

So Dirk holds the food out a little more towards Dave and says, “you felt that shit, huh?”

  
  


  
  


Dave tries not to move. He hears the words but it almost doesn’t register. Yea, _Dave_ felt that shit, why does _Bro_ know that shit? Before, whenever he felt it coming, Bro just seemed to make the training harder, faster, more brutal. Dave figured it was to get him to stop, to make his brain and hands and mouth behave. No more babbling, no more stimming, no more things happening in his senses that wasn’t actually happening.

Slowly, however, he nods. He doesn’t take the food. He stays arm’s length away. He’s still shaking but he’s _pretending_ he’s not.

  
  


  
  


Dave isn’t taking the food. Dirk is trying very very very hard to not just push it into his hands.

“Yeah.” Dirk glances off to the side, feeling the corner of his mouth go tight. “Should’ve realized that it would- well, whatever. I don’t know if it’s bullshit will leave any lingering effect, but it better fucking not.”

Maybe he should do one of those stupid cleansing rituals Rose would go on about when it comes to Dispelling The Dark Magykks or whatever the fuck she would write about.

“It’s taken care of, though.” Dirk looks back to Dave again. “Sorry for not realizing it sooner.”

Dirk fails to realize that the words coming out of his mouth make no fucking sense.

“Here.” He holds the food out just an inch more. _Please take it. It’s okay. I hate the look on your face. I don’t know how to make it leave._ “You should eat.”

  
  


  
  


Yea, audial processing is not happening right now. Bro is _absolutely_ speaking English but Dave just can’t figure out what he’s talking about. Oh God is it a secret fucking code now? No, no, that’s not Bro’s style. Not verbal, at least. But _boy_ he’s being verbal now, he’s practically talking up a storm in comparison to how he normally is. This is probably the most Bro has spoken in Dave’s _entire life_.

Bro tells him to eat but he doesn’t take the bowl. At least his head turns to it this time, showing that he actually looked at it instead of stealing a glance. Dave finally, finally loses the stoicism, frowning heavily and looking back up at Bro. “I can’t figure out your fucking rules,” he finally tells him, almost desperately _(fuck that’s weak reel it in don’t crack)_ , because he wants to _earn it_ and he needs the fucking _hint_ or something!

“I thought I was getting it and I’m _not_.” He _wants_ the food. He _wants_ Bro to give him a silent thumbs up and a shoo to the bathroom to clean up, he _wants_ to have the training make sense and maybe even go back to normal. But he feels stupid and worn out and Bro keeps offering the food but if he reaches for it and Bro takes it back Dave will be more than crushed, and he can’t handle it.

  
  


  
  


The-

Dirk’s _rules?_

Dirk looks at Dave for a moment, his mind spinning. What the fuck. What the fuck? He’s _trying to feed Dave_ and Dave isn’t taking it, isn’t doing anything but standing there and Dirk really really really wants to kill Bro because Dave isn’t saying _I’m not hungry_ , isn’t taking the food, isn’t doing anything but asking about _rules_.

Rules.

Fuck.

Dirk needs to improvise right fucking now.

“Rule number one.” He says. “Lil’ Cal is no longer allowed in this apartment.”

“Rule number two. You eat when you’re hungry.”

“Rule number three. If we run out of something you write it on the shopping list.”

That’s a good set of rules, right? Fuck.

  
  


  
  


Dave physically fucking _balks_ , taking a dramatic step back and tripping momentarily over some banal bullshit on his floor. He rights himself, pretending that wasn’t dramatic as fuck, but the motion still stands. “Lil’ Cal is your _bro_ ,” he emphasizes. He doesn’t think the guy could do anything so gay as to love the puppet, but Dave has _always_ been forced to show respect to it, to the point Dave would automatically give it. Now he’s not allowed?

Dave can’t take it anymore. His cool guy facade _breaks_ , and he’s equipping his sword to his hand before anything else can be said. He doesn’t lunge or attack or anything stupid like that, but he’s showing his hand here.

“Who the fuck are you?”

  
  


  
  


Dave’s backing up, getting his sword out and the sight of it makes Dirk’s heart lurch.

Might as well lay it out, then.

“Lil’ Cal was a possessed piece of shit who was fueled by some serious fucking jujus.” Dirk says. “You felt that fucking malevolent fucking shit from earlier? Turns out when you give that bitch a taste of it’s own medicine it throws an awful big tantrum.”

He’s still holding the mac n cheese. That feels so fucking bizarre, for some reason. Dave’s standing there with a sword in his hand and demanding to know who Dirk is and Dirk is just

holding mac n cheese.

Wild.

  
  


  
  


Okay. Part of that made some sense of cohesion, but not all of it. Dave grips tighter on his sword, but it’s a defense position. He doesn’t _want_ to attack, really, or he thinks he doesn’t. Possessed puppets though?

Actually, yea he can see it. Sometimes how Lil’ Cal stared wasn’t… quite right. It would explain why he sometimes felt real. He just figured it was the smuppet effect.

“…that didn’t answer my question.” Or maybe it did. If Bro sensed something was wrong with his most cherished possession, maybe it was enough to make him act differently to fix it. Or maybe it’s a game or maybe nobody is who they’re supposed to be or maybe or maybe or maybe-

  
  


  
  


Dirk isn’t sure how that answer went over, but Dave is correct. Dirk didn’t actually answer him.

Dave deserves the truth.

“It’s complicated.” Dirk says. He needs to give Dave some space, probably. “I’m your brother.” He crouches down and lightly sets the bowl and apple juice down on the floor.

“You should eat.” Dirk repeats. “Then we’ll talk.”

He steps up and takes a step back.

Then he turns and leaves to go stand in the kitchen and tries not to have a breakdown. He’s not cut out for this. He’s not made to do this. Dirk is flying so fucking blind here.

Fuck, Dirk wishes Jane were here.


	3. Chapter 3

Dave watches him set the food down for him, and the bottle of aj. He watches him take the step back and give Dave  _space_ . He watches him leave, and he listens intently but he can hear Bro in the kitchen again, and after a few more moments where he’s  _sure_ that’s where he is, he finally puts the sword away and feels his whole body just drain. He sits on the floor again and stares at the… offering?

Bro told him three different times to eat, and now he’s not being watched; he’s hungry enough he decides to go ahead and finally take the bowl, reaching over and pulling both items close. He stays near his bed, leaning against it and eating his food slowly at first, until his body demands more and he winds up practically inhaling it. It’s actually not bad at all. He wants to enjoy the taste but he’s too caught up in everything to really focus attention on it. The apple juice is the only thing that really registers, refreshing and washing away the thick dairy sensation on his tongue. He winds up downing several gulps from it, and then he’s left alone again.

He should go out there. Confront him again, or talk, or whatever they’re going to do. This is completely off script and Dave is having a hard time making a new one for it.

He’s still shaking, so he rubs his hands over his face and wills it to stop, scrubbing until he feels it’s sufficient. Then he stands, careful and using the bed, but he’s fine, just… trembling and confused. Coming down off of something, like a bad drug.

It’s then a simple matter of fixing his shades before he steps into the hallway with careful, silent movements, heading back into the kitchen and living space area.

He crosses his arms. He feels like maybe he’s allowed to do that.

He can’t help but briefly eye the pot of food, and gestures to it with his head, slightly angled. “Are you going to eat it too? Or did I fall right into a fairy trap?” Maybe that’s why he wanted him to eat so bad.

Man Dave is really bad at this he should have asked Rose follow up questions.

  
  


  
  


Dirk spends the time alone in the kitchen trying to compartmentalize and figure out what the fuck he’s going to tell Dave.

_So, here’s the thing- I’m your brother but I’m not your Bro. Makes sense, right?_

_Okay, so Lil’ Cal was a seriously fucked up puppet who probably completely destroyed your Bro down to a husk-_

_I have no fucking idea what I’m doing but I know you and I know you need an adult and I’m clearly the only fucking option around here-_

Dirk takes off the hat on his head and scrubs a hand through his hair before re-settling it back on and leaning against the counter.

_Jesus, I wish Jane was here._ Dirk’s mouth twists into a bitter little line.  _She’d be able to put my head on straight._

He can basically hear her voice, if he imagines.

_ Stop being such an absolute dingus, Dirk. You’re getting caught up in your head again! What are the  **facts** , and not just your emotions disguised as fact? _

Thanks, Jane.

Okay.

Fact: Dirk is probably not going home.

Fact: Dave needs a guardian.

Fact: Dirk wants to take care of Dave.

Fact: Dirk has no idea how to act like Bro.

Fact: Dirk doesn’t  _want_ to act like Bro.

Fact: Dave deserves to know the truth.

Fact: Dirk doesn’t know how to do this.

Fact: God dammit, Dirk is going to try anyway.

Fact: Dirk is going to do his fucking best.

Fact: Dirk doesn’t want a relationship with Dave built on lies.

Dirk breathes out. Straightens up. Closes his eyes for a moment and tries to settle himself. It works, for the most part, but there’s still a gut-churning nervousness trembling through him.

Dirk waits for Dave.

When Dave comes out and folds his arms, Dirk does his best to stay nice and neutral.

“I will.” Dirk says, in response to Dave’s question.

He pauses. He doesn’t know how to start this conversation.

“Go ahead and ask.”

  
  


  
  


That doesn’t ease Dave’s nerves. He has  _got_ to stop focusing on the fairy shit. “Are you a fairy?”

Yep sweet got it in one, you’re a  _fucking natural_ at this Dave, just - _swing_ \- right outta the gate. He actually groans at  _himself_ when he realizes the question just  _flies_ out of him, and much like Dane Cook he can’t reach out and grab the words back. “Fuck that’s not what I meant. That’d be so stupid, right? Ha ha ha yea that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever said okay we can agree let’s skip that part no need to rewind and look it over, we’re gonna gloss right by it, we’re skidding like flailing monkeys over thin ice and  _uh oh_ one of them’s crashing in we’re gonna have to avoid that too just ignore it.”

Dave’s crossed arms are tight against his chest, trying not to appear like he’s trying to hide under the scrutiny.

  
  


  
  


Dirk was not expecting  _that_ to be the question that comes out of Dave’s mouth so he blinks for a moment, which gives Dave time to vomit up an entire paragraph of back tracking.

Okay. Uh. Dirk doesn’t know if this is a are-you-legitimately-fae thing or 20th-century-slur thing but he’s going to… assume? It’s the first? To his knowledge Dave didn’t like… hate gay people when he was younger, so… yeah.

“Last time I checked, I’m not a fairy.” Dirk says. “Chalk that one up to _unlikely_.”

He feels his mouth twitch upwards towards a smile, though, at Dave’s ramble. It’s the most Dave-like thing he’s heard Dave say since he got here (and  _wow_ that’s a weird fucking sentence).

“I’m still your brother.” Dirk settles on saying. “But I’m not Bro.”

That’s going to make no fucking sense, probably, but it’s the simplest goddamn way he can put it.

  
  


  
  


Holy  _shit_ is that a smile? It’s a smile it’s a small smile what the  _fuuuuc-_

He let’s Bro explain, but it’s certainly not  _enough_ information, and it’s not cryptic so much as… minimalistic. Words slotted in the air to take up as little space as fucking possible, not like what Dave had just done, words desperate to fill every space, take up everything, to be noticed.

“I’m glad you’ve cleared this up for me, I thought maybe I’d lose track of the narrative there.” This is the second time Bro has assured him he’s his brother, and… yea, he’d like to believe that. That at least this isn’t a complete fucking stranger. He sighs through his teeth, unable to stop himself from fidgeting.

“Soo… you’re, what, Bizarro World Bro? Is your name actually Rob? You’re secretly an interior designer with a rap career on the side, own three cookbooks by Cathy Mitchell, and go by DJ Snazzy Drapes.”

  
  


  
  


Dirk actually huffs a laugh at that, shaking his head a touch.

“Not quite.” He says. “It all sounds incredibly stupid when said out loud, but might as well just lay it out there and let you decide what to do with all this information.”

“My name is Dirk. The situation around both of our births is weird as hell so I’m not going to try and explain it, but I’m your brother from another universe and also the future. I woke up shunted into Bro’s body and I’m pretty sure he’s gone now, moved over to make room for me.”

He spreads his hands in a bit of  _what can you do, it is what it is_ kind of gesture.

  
  


  
  


Dave, for Bro’s - _Dirk’s?_ \- sake, listens. It’s… an odd thing, wrapping his mind around it, but like always pop culture and internet memes come to save the day. Not a fairy, more like Scott Bakula. He briefly wonders if Bro’s real name is also Dirk. Eventually, his mouth twists and he nods. “You’re right. It  _does_ sound stupid out loud. And you probably should have picked either Future or Alternate Dimension, adding both just makes it more confusing.”

He doesn’t let his arms go, attempting to refrain from his stims and twitches, even though this Bro-Dirk hasn’t said anything about them before. Something settles deep in him in a weird way, a complicated set of emotions he’s unsure how to sift through. “So… I’ll never see him again?” It’s weird to ask because he can  _see_ him just fine. But even now, just how he carries himself, Dave can tell it’s wrong.

  
  


  
  


Dirk is going to say  _ believe me, the entire situation is  _ _**much** _ _ more confusing than that _ , but Dave’s question has him drawing up short.

He reaches up and slips the cap off. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, taking it off makes him feel a little more like… himself. He sighs, turning it over in his hands, and then drops it into his sylladex.

“Probably not.” _Definitely not_. “Sorry, Dave.” _I’m not actually that sorry._

  
  


  
  


Dave watches Dirk remove the hat and put it away, and that seems to seal it for him. This is happening. He… doesn’t know what he’s  _supposed_ to be feeling. Technically he’s  _lost_ someone, right? What do you do when that happens, do you cry? Probably not that’s weak shit, if Dirk here fought Bro or whatever and won then he guesses Dirk is the stronger of the two. Bro probably would have wanted to go out that way, in some cool ass fight.

“Huh. Can’t be helped, right? Sometimes a Quantum leap just-” He slaps his palms together in an indication of destruction, and lets his arms hang after. Fuck. He can’t look at Dirk, suddenly. His chest hurts and he wants it to stop. “So if you’re beamed back home, you’re gone too huh?”

  
  


  
  


Dirk quirks a small little smile at Dave. It still feels stiff on his face, but he can actually  _do it_ now.

“Presumably.” Dirk says. “But I don’t believe I am going back. For one, I have no idea what brought me _here_. For another, I’ve caused a pretty significant impact to the timeline by destroying Lil’ Cal. My future might not… be there anymore.”

He falters a little with his words, but pushes through them anyway.

He doesn’t know that for sure- but it doesn’t matter. He’s not going back and leaving Dave on his own. It hurts, but it’s the right thing to do.

  
  


  
  


Dave  _does_ look back at him at that. So the dude is stuck here now. In some weird past time he doesn’t know. “Damn, you got the Biff timeline huh?” It’s said a little quieter, a little sadder.

He looks around at all the things that have been moved and changed in just one day. Everything Dave has known, in this personal bubble, now rearranged. Does he just… accept this and move on? Pretend nothing is weird? Or does he accept it on another level, knowing this is someone somewhat new, yet treating it like it’s okay that his other? brother is gone.

Yea he might still be feeling a little sick from everything.

  
  


  
  


Dave’s voice slides into something softer. Dirk wants nothing more than to go over there and hug him.

“Yeah.” Dirk says. “Something like that.”

He looks at Dave with a sad little smile.

“I’m sorry about Bro.” He says. “In the fu- In my-” He pauses and sighs, then tries again. “You told me about him. He seemed like a cool guy.”

He’s lying through his teeth, of course, Dave’s faltering rants about Bro and his guardian had left an  _impression_ on Dirk. He has a feeling that that’s not quite what Dave needs right now, though.

“I don’t think I could fill his shoes.” Dirk says. _I don’t want his fucking shoes to fill, I want to wear my own shoes._ “But I promise I’ll be as good of a guardian as I can.”

  
  


  
  


Dave stiffens imperceptibly when Dirk says he was a cool guy. He frowns, but he doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead he tries to nod, and when Dirk starts talking about being his guardian he finds himself hit with surprise. “What? Dude, you-” a pause, trying to quell it down. “You don’t have to feel  _obligated_ to stick around here just because this is where you happened to land.” Besides, Dave is a lot more trouble than he’s worth, and it won’t really be fair to subject this dude who’s already dealing with alternate dimension shit to himself.

  
  


  
  


Dirk’s brows twitch upwards in surprise.

“Dave.” He says patiently. “I don’t feel _obligated_ to take care of you- I _want_ to take care of you. You’re my brother.”

It really should be as simple as that.  _You’re my brother. I want to take care of you._ If that’s not enough for Dave then, well, Dirk isn’t really sure what he’s going to do- but he’ll figure it out. He always does.

  
  


  
  


Dave would  _love_ to say he doesn’t need taken care of, that he’s twelve years old and he knows how to live in an apartment with no one around, but he thinks that’d sound hella lame from some lame-as-shit movie. He also doesn’t want to think on the fact he didn’t know how to make mac ‘n cheese, which means after a while Dave would run out of food. And money to buy food, without someone here to have a job. Yea, he made a little cash on the side in secret doing art, but that wouldn’t be enough to sustain everything.

Outside of that mental spiral, though, Dirk’s words allow that  _ thing _ inside him to slowly expand, to get a gasping breath in.  _ I  _ _**want** _ _ to take care of you. You’re my brother. _ He just…  _ wants _ to do that. Because they have a familial bond. This is some straight-up Egbert crap and yet he won’t deny the lingering want on some days to have a fussy overbearing parent  ~~ instead of ~~ with his cool Bro. Going to school sounds like it’s for suckers but the idea of coming home to fucking  _ snacks _ all baked and shit? Sorry, corporate america absolutely hooked him on the advertising of sugary sweets; they look delicious and he wants them.

“I mean if uh… that’s what you wanna do.” He tries to seem cool but he doesn’t at all. He glances at the room, how typhonous it all seems. “Are you at least going to put shit back?”

  
  


  
  


Dirk can only hope that Dave is… well, he’s probably not  _okay_ with everything, but he can hope that Dave is at the very least not going to break down about it. Hopefully.

He’ll give Dave some space to process and then try talking to him about it.

Dirk will… probably do some processing of his own in that time.

That won’t be fun.

He glances at the kitchen and winces a touch.

“Yeah, I’ll clean it up. No offense, but this kitchen is a fucking disaster zone. Hurricane fucking Strider came through here and decided _yeah, the kitchen? Which is made for food? Fuck that, let’s shove everything in a place that doesn’t make any sense_ and now I’m fucking coming in here to do post-hurricane cleanup shit and finding out that we’ve got a mixer with no beaters and a cheese grater that looks like it’s a decade old from the rust.”

  
  


  
  


Dave shakes his head. “What? Dude that’s what made the kitchen cool, you’re absolutely laming it up.” Of course it’s cool to have weapons stuffed in the sinks and orifices of the kitchen; no one else does it. It adds tension and surprise, makes it an obstacle. It’s fun  ~~ it’s not fun. ~~ Sure, maybe having food in there would be a welcome change of pace, but then  _where would the swords go?_

  
  


  
  


Dirk makes a low noise of amusement. “Right. Well, if that’s what you want, then feel free to take the swords and build your own obstacle maze in the kitchen- I will be sitting over  _here_ with knife-free mac n cheese and watching the show.”

He washed the dishes with hot enough water that they’re already mostly dry, so he starts picking them up and stacking them in the cupboards.

He’s not looking at Dave as he says it, he’s keeping an eye on him in his periphery vision, as he says, “I don’t know what kind of food Bro buys, so I just bought a bunch of basics. I’ll put a list on the fridge- if there’s anything I missed that you want just write it on there and I’ll get it next time.”

  
  


  
  


So this is it. Everything’s just going to be… different.  _Changed_ . That doesn’t settle right with him at all, he’s going to have to start over from scratch with this guy, or close to scratch. He’s watching Dirk put the dishes away and tries not to mentally focus on it, because he  _is_ going to drive himself crazy with every little thing Dirk does differently from Bro.

“Sometimes he gets takeout.” If Dave’s good with his training he might get pizza or leftover chinese. He doesn’t like to admit it but he has a few snacks hidden in his closet, but that’s just for just in case Bro is too busy to order anything or Dave’s training has been lacking for a few days. They’re secret snacks.

“So… dunno what I’d request, I guess?”

  
  


  
  


…takeout? That’s _it?_

Dirk just hums a little, like Dave didn’t say anything weird. “You got a preference for what kind of takeout? Burgers, Chinese, Pizza?” He should probably try to keep things as stable as possible.

But.

Just takeout.

The fridge was full of swords.

Dirk wants to hit something.

God.

Just takeout. No cups. Knives in the cupboard.

Lil’ Cal, watching over everything.

Dirk doesn’t feel bad anymore about killing Bro.

  
  


  
  


Okay here we go, something a little more familiar. He still can’t read the guy but he’ll take what he can get right now.

“Anyone who doesn’t like pizza is a criminal, so I’m always up for the ‘za. If we get Chinese I like the noodles and the tangerine chicken?” Fuck why does that sound like a question? He fidgets and tries to pretend this is totally chill. “Uh. Guess I’ll eat almost anything.” A shrug. “It’s whatever you get man, if you feel like sharing.” There, that was probably better, probably more chill. Maybe. He shrugged so that automatically makes it more chill.

  
  


  
  


_If you feel like sharing._ Dirk’s blood is going to evaporate out of his body because it is boiling in his veins.

“Mm.” He just nods a little in response. “We didn’t exactly have takeout where I’m from, so I got used to just kind of shoving shit together in the kitchen and making it work.”

He pauses, then amends, “Most of it prepackaged. So that’s about the level of knowledge I’m working with for cooking- I promise if I ever fuck anything up bad enough to be inedible I’ll order us pizza, yeah? I doubt I could fuck that up- I’d be a complete and utter embarrassment to basically everyone in existence if I somehow fucked up sending some basic ass information through a phone.”

  
  


  
  


The things Dirk is saying feel so… nice? And super bizarre and weird and- right, stop focusing on that part. Remember, driving ourselves crazy?

Dave snorts, super not cool but he pretends it didn’t happen. “Yea, I’d say. Watching you flounder while picking toppings would be pretty hilarious though.” Would it? It’d be Bro’s body doing it. Maybe that’s funny. Maybe that’s still weird. Quick find another topic to focus on.

“Uh… Okay here’s one. Pineapple on pizza.”

  
  


  
  


“Good and anyone who says otherwise isn’t shit.” Dirk says immediately. He turns and arches a deliberate brow at Dave. “Tell me we are not about to have a problem, Dave, because I think I might have to disown you from the Strider clan if we do.”

He keeps his tone light and joking- or at least as much as he can in this body.

  
  


  
  


Dave is actually caught off guard by just how light his tone is on this- to the point that when he asks the question, Dave actually  _laughs_ . It’s a small one, nothing full on, but it’s real.

“Nah, nah, I like pineapple on pizza. I pretty much like anything on pizza.” Bro never ordered pineapple on it, and he doesn’t know if it’s because Bro didn’t like it or because he knew Dave did.

  
  


  
  


Dirk’s heart jumps as Dave laughs and it’s like a overwhelming sense of relief swamps over him because- it’s higher pitched and prepubescent, but Dave’s laugh is the same. It’s like an echo of the man Dave is/will become and for some reason Dirk just  _knows_ that things will be okay, hearing that laugh.

“Good. Hope you don’t like anchovies, though- those are disgusting.” Dirk says, the corner of his mouth turning up in pleased amusement. He hums a little. “Other contentious food topics… mint and chocolate?”

  
  


  
  


Dave has  _no idea_ if he likes anchovies, so that probably won’t be a problem. Can’t crave what you’ve never had, right? It’s interesting that the topic has kind of changed, and Dave doesn’t feel so high strung about it; like this isn’t even a Game, even though it’s kind of a game. Capitals necessary for emphasis.

“Never had it.” Mint and chocolate? He knows it exists but he just pictures chocolate-flavored toothpaste and he doesn’t think that’d go. If he ever got the opportunity to steal a pint of ice cream he ain’t going for _mint chocolate chip_ , he’s going for classics like cookie dough and chocolate brownie.

“Is a hot dog a sandwich?” he responds next.

  
  


  
  


Dirk snorts. “Hell no. Anyone who says a hot dog is a sandwich is delusional. Do you eat a sandwich vertically? No. Hot dogs are not sandwiches because you you eat sandwiches horizontally.”

  
  


  
  


Dave isn’t sure why he’s still just standing there, but he is, watching Dirk snort and just… be not like Bro. He didn’t ask another question so maybe Dave is supposed to ask another, or reiterate on this topic.

“Dude, you can eat a hot dog horizontally too. And what about Hoagies and shit? Those are essentially sandwich stuffed hot dog buns.”

  
  


  
  


Dirk raises both brows at Dave. “First, I would like for you to go to the average man on the street and ask him how he eats a hot dog.” He drawls. “If a single one of them says  _sideways_ , with the toppings pointed to the side, then I will eat my goddamn shirt.”

“Second, hoagies are still sandwiches where the toppings go inbetween the meat and bread, not on the meat facing out to the open air, and are _still_ eaten sideways by the average human being. Try again, lil’ bro.”

  
  


  
  


Holy shit the dude  _thought_ of this. What the hell kind of life do you need to live to have this kind of Opinion? It’s fucking hilarious but Dave is trying so hard not to crack. “Dude, you are  _absolutely_ forgetting the fact there exists  _open faced sandwiches_ , which would be eaten  _like a hot dog_ . You’re also  _completely_ alienating po boys from this equation.  _Bro_ .”

But then that feels weird, saying it like that.

  
  


  
  


The response from Dirk is immediate.

“Open face sandwiches are not part of this equation because they have a specific modifier to them- namely the term _open faced_. By nature of the specific term modifying their existence they are disqualified from being used as an example.”

His chest feels warm at being called Bro.

  
  


  
  


Oh we’re still going okay. “Absolutely not, not when the generalized term for a fucking sandwich is any fucking meat between two pieces of bread. Sorry vegetarians and snotty five year old kids scarfing down that PBJ, your lunch is nothing more than thick quesadilla.”

  
  


“Vegetarians suck ass and are food snobs so they can eat shit.” Dirk drawls. “Also, are you now trying to argue that because an open faced sandwich is disqualified from the conversation, suddenly vegetarians and kiddy sandwiches like PB&J are suddenly, somehow… _relevant_ to this argument?”

  
  


Dave sputters. Wait. “N-no! What I’m  _saying_ is a hot dog is a sandwich  _because_ a sandwich is meat between bread.”

  
  


“Ignoring the fact that you just immediately disproved your own point with PB&J,” Dirk says, and abruptly realizes that he’s having _fun_ , which is staggering in and of itself, “a hot dog is not _between bread._ It is _nestled into it_.”

  
  


“Okay now that’s just fuckin’ semantics.”

  
  


“Is it?”

  
  


Dave pauses, thinks on this. “Yea. It is.” He’s decided. “Whether between or  _nestled_ I think should be irrelevant. What about those weird polish sandwiches with the sausages in them?”

  
“What about them?” Dirk asks. "You’ll need to be more specific than  _those weird Polish sandwiches._ "

  
  


Dave jerks his hands, gesturing with his head but  _that’s not an explanation_ , oh my God why doesn’t he know what the weird Polish sandwiches are? “You  _know_ ,” he tries, “the  _weird Polish sandwiches_ with the wet cabbage shit and the sausages and I think there’s a pickle I don’t fuckin’  _know_ .”

  
  


Dirk just raises a brow at him. He has no idea what Dave is referring to.

“I have no idea what you are referring to.” He says.

  
  


“Oh my God the fuckin’-” Wow this is frustrating why is he hung up on this? What the fuck else was on the goddamn _weird Polish sandwich?_ “Do you even _have_ a Poland where you come from?”

  
  


“No.” Dirk says. “Twice over, interestingly enough, though I suppose that won’t make much sense.”

  
  


Dave frowns. “I don’t know if I want you to be fuckin’ with me or not.” Not that he has any deep love for  _Poland_ of all places, but he and Rose talk about a lot of shit involving mythical whatever so  _yea_ a world without Poland might  _suck_ alright?

He sighs deeply, but he wants the last word, or he wants to keep this going, this weird  _thing_ happening right now that’s new and terrifying and kind of fun. “Fine. Then is a Banh Mi a hotdog.”

  
  


“I am not.” Dirk says dryly. “I also don’t know what that is. You want to hear something else wild from my universe? Guy Fieri is a villain who helped an alien queen bitch take over Earth and destroy it.”

  
  


Dave is a bit speechless. Dirk may  _say_ he’s not fucking with him but he thinks he is. How could  _Diners Drive-Ins and Dives_ be possibly evil? “Well I hope he used his evil powers to create Flavortown at least.”

  
  


“That he did.” Dirk says, remembering the footage. “It was…” He pauses. It might not be appropriate for Dave’s ears.

He pauses and looks at Dave. “ESRB Rating says my next sentence may not be suitable for children.” He says dryly. “How old are you?”

  
  


Dave tries not to scoff, because that’s what kids do. “I’m twelve. Not a child. Lay it on me.”

  
  


Huh. 12. Alright.

“Flavortown was basically Auschwitz for food flavors.” Dirk says. “All the good flavors rounded up and brought there to die.”

He’s only… a tiny bit kidding. It wasn’t equivalent to Auschwitz.

Probably.

  
  


Okay Dave’s eyes widen at that. “Whaaaatt the  _fuck_ ,” he says, almost under his breath. “Why would my dude Sir Flavorton do me dirty like this?” It’s said with a nervous air, like a gif of a perturbed woman in a scarf.

  
  


Dirk shrugs a little bit. “I have no idea why. It was before my time.  _Long_ before my time. Remember when I also said the future? Yeah, in my universe it was the 25th century. And what might have been referred to as the apocalypse.”

  
  


  
  


Dave is, at this point, ready to believe him. This also makes the dude seem way more like Cable than like Scott Bakula. “You’re not like… here to try to stop that from happening, are you? Fuck, I mean I know you said you didn’t know but was that a lie and you  _do_ know and what you know is you need to stop the apocalypse from happening Terminator-style? Please don’t tell me I’m the one who invents Skynet I don’t  _think_ I have that kind of technological prowess but who knows what I’ll pick up in the future I could be some badass half-cyborg DJ.”

  
  


“You don’t invent Skynet.” Dirk says immediately. “Also Skynet isn’t a thing in the future. Also that was a completely different universe that was basically inverted in comparison to this one and don’t ask me what that means or how I know that because we’ll be here for literal hours as I try to explain the massive amounts of bullshittery that is my life.”

Dirk realizes he’s leaning pretty heavily on the counter.

… wow. He straight up forgot that he was still sick.

Okay.

“Right now, I am going to eat some of this bountiful cheesy goodness and then probably drink more medicine and pass the fuck out again.” Dirk declares. “Then, when I am more of a coherent human being again and not on the verse of absolutely self-destruction from being sick, we can talk more. Figure this shit the fuck out. Okay?”

  
  


Well good to know they don’t have to worry about Silver Surfer Terminators suddenly showing up at the door. He watches Dirk lean and feels… confused, as well as concerned. “Oh shit you’re actually still sick?” For some reason he thought maybe once the truth came out, the sick thing would just… go away.

  
  


Dirk pauses in a reach for a bowl to look at Dave for a moment. “…yes?” He says, bemused. “Unless my fever’s suddenly gone away in the last hour for no reason.”

He raises a hand and presses it to his forehead. He has no idea why people do this. It’s a mom thing or something?

“Yup, still fevered.” He decides based off of no metric whatsoever.

  
  


Dave makes a small noise in his throat, almost a soft but unsure laugh. Dirk is still acting like things are chill, and there’s a lack of  _sharpness_ in the air Dave likes but is afraid to settle into. He’s still not close to Dirk, not physically.

“So… shouldn’t you be… like, resting? Instead of all… this?”

  
  


Dirk finishes getting mac n cheese and leans against the counter, starting to eat it with a contemplative expression on his face.

Then he shrugs.

“Probably.” He says and shoves a bite into his mouth, giving himself a moment to think of more to say. Unfortunately, a single bite of food is not long at all to think, so when he opens his mouth again, what comes out is, “but I guess I’m just a homely bastard who likes a kitchen being in order.”

  
  


Dave makes a small face. “Can’t that wait, Martha Stewart? Maybe you’ll just germ up everything, y’think of that?”

  
  


  
  


Dirk rolls his eyes at Dave’s sass. “Clearly it couldn’t have,” he says, “otherwise I wouldn’t have.”

He takes another bite, and then another, and then his bowl is done.

“I’m going to go pass the fuck out.” Dirk says, and dumps his bowl into the sink. “If you don’t want any more mac n cheese then put a lid on the pot so it doesn’t dry out.”

He looks down at the medicine and, for good measure, uncaps it and takes another swig, then puts it back down. Then he moves through the kitchen, towards Dave, intending to go to his (Bro’s) room and lie down.

  
  


  
  


Fine. True. Fair. ~~Bro~~ Dirk’s gonna do what he’s gonna do. He watches him eat, and he’s not sure if he’s watching because he doesn’t think he’s physically watched Bro eat food before, or if he’s trying to make sure the dude doesn’t choke or something.

…do they have a lid? Probably, or Dirk wouldn’t have said it, right?

He’s distracted from that train of thought when Dirk starts to approach him. He  _flash-steps_ away from him and the hall, tumbling partially into the livingroom because he did it  _backwards_ , fuck.

  
  


  
  


Dave flashsteps backwards from him and Dirk

freezes.

He watches like it’s in slow motion as Dave’s face pales and he tumbles into the living room and

Dirk isn’t quite sure what to do.

He’s paralyzed with indecision for a moment before he shakes himself out of it and says, “everything okay?”

His heart is pounding up somewhere between his ears. It feels like he’s underwater as he tries to comprehend the fact that Dave just panic-flash-stepped away from him. From his own guardian.

Dirk feels sick all over again.

  
  


  
  


Dave tries to right himself quickly. Nope he didn’t just do that he’s cool. Epitome of cool, that’s him, just hopping into the livingroom all cool-like.

“Yea. Yep. Absolutely. All cool here, this is Cools-ville, this is better than Cools-ville because we don’t have talking dogs and fake fuckin’ ghosts.”

  
  


  
  


Okay. Compartmentalize.

Dirk is going to go to sleep and in the morning he will deal with the implications of all… that.

“Right. Have fun over there in better than Cools-ville because I am going to nap town.” Dirk says and holds out his fist towards Dave for a fist bump. “The sweetest of fucking naps is calling my goddamn name.”

  
  


  
  


Dave stares at the fist. Holy shit. No way a fuckin’-

He eyes Dirk warily, but brings his fist up and bumps it back.

_Holy Fist Bump, Batman_ .

  
  


  
  


Dave’s expression is wary but- awestruck? A bit? Which yeah, don’t fall over yourself in your eagerness but Dirk does give pretty fucking good fistbumps if he does say so himself. One might almost say- hold the applause, please- they’re  _god tier_ level fist bumps.

…

Wow he’s really tired.

So Dirk just quirks a little smile at Dave and pretends like he doesn’t see Dave’s expression and says, “night, lil’ bro.”

and then goes and slips off his shades and tosses his clothes off and collapses into his bed. Bro’s bed. His bed.

Ugh. It’s going to take some time getting used to that.

He’s out in a matter of seconds.

  
  


  
  


Dave likes the smile. It looks weird on him, everything is still bizarre, but it’s not bad. He pretends he’s not completely awestruck that he got a fuckin’ fist bump, that might be lame, but Bro hasn’t even given him a fuckin’  _thumbs up_ before let alone a  _fist bump_ like, c’mon.

He watches as Dirk retreats into the room before he goes into his own, and he has a real dilemma over whether he should update Rose on the brownie thing or not.


	4. Chapter 4

Dirk sleeps like the fucking dead. He doesn’t even dream this time, which is nice, but he sleeps for a solid fourteen hours this time.

When he wakes up his head hurts, his mouth tastes like something died in it, and his stomach is very very unhappy at how empty it is. He  _does_ feel better, though, so that’s something.

After thirty more minutes of trying to figure out what the hell he needs to do today, he finally hauls himself out of his bed and to the bathroom where he washes his face and brushes his teeth and feels a little bit more like an actual person.

He looks up into the mirror and almost has a full-body flinch at the sight of a face that is his-but-not-his.

Almost. He saves it, though.

Then he hunts for clean clothes and makes his way out to the kitchen. It’s, what, 5 PM? Geeze. He should probably try not to do that again.

As he pulls out a bottle of orange soda from the fridge and cracks it open, he updates his list.

Take care of Dave.  
->1a. Make sure he’s eating properly  
->1b. There’s probably some kind of emotional fallout on the horizon. He’ll need to deal with that.

Clean up the apartment  
->2a. Living room  
->2b. Bathroom because holy shit  
->2c. Check the roof for traces of juju

Figure out how to live in this world and era for the next year, year and a half until SBURB.

Figure out Bro’s contacts. ~~still not thinking about looking for his friends~~

Deal with everything like a rational fucking human being.

That’s a good list. Dirk can handle this list.

  
  


  
  


While Dirk slips into a mini-coma, Dave can’t help but stay awake the whole time.

He’s not as paranoid as that first night, but he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do now that his Bro is in “nap town”. He  _does_ give a few simple explanations to Rose, promising something more substantial later but telling her there was a change of genre; no more fantasy, we’re going sci-fi on this bitch. Maybe she still has information on that, or maybe he’ll have to actually ask Egbert for something serious (or play it as a joke, then the whole thing won’t seem nearly so fucking crazy).

When he finally hears movement much later in the day (Night? Evening?) he cracks his door open imperceptibly, quiet and small enough he can just peek slightly through. All he sees is the darkened hall, though. He’ll have to actually leave the room to see more.

Well… he’s kind of hungry anyway, and there might be leftover blue box, so he risks sneaking down the hall to peek.

  
  


  
  


Dirk catches motion out of the corner of his eyes and barely refrains from turning and greeting Dave. His stumbling, terrified flash step backwards of last night is all too terrifying, too indicative of how Dave is right now.

So instead he caps the soda, drops it onto the counter, and squints into the fridge contemplatively. Bacon and eggs. Classic. Sure. He can do bacon and eggs. Jane’s taught him the  _right_ way to scramble eggs, after all, so surely he can do that.

He finds the pan and puts it on the stove. Finds a bowl. Has Dave moved yet? Doesn’t look like it. Dirk tilts his head just a little in Dave’s direction, a silent  _yeah, I see you lil’ bro_ , and then starts cracking eggs.

The first one shatters in his hand and goes everywhere.

Dirk stands there, dumbfounded.

  
  


  
  


Shit, he’s been spotted. And yet he stays, staring, watching; observing. He knows he’s supposed to know Bro is Dirk and is technically a new person but also the same person, but not. Sci-fi stuff. Right. But it’s not been very long, and he still has those thoughts that it’s weird dreams again, that Bro is Bro and he can go back to his routine.

Maybe that’s a big reason he feels so bothered. The routine of it, how he  _knew_ how to react around his guardian, has been shattered. If Bro is Bro, he could just slide right back to what he knows. Being someone different, even imperceptibly, means he has to re-learn new things around a new fucking human being. Which is  _frustrating_ and  _confusing_ and he doesn’t know how to explain  _why_ .

He watches a little longer, but when Dirk suddenly  _destroys an egg with his hand_ he can’t help the short laugh that escapes him. It’s immediately followed with his teeth clacking shut, his face going quickly into a neutral expression. What who’s laughing? Somebody’s throwing stuff. He gonna build a fire or what, what’s going on?

  
  


  
  


Dirk is staring down at his hand, blinking in a kind of muted shock.

Well. Uh. That was… unexpected. He’s got egg on his fucking  _glasses_ , holy shit.

He can’t bring himself to care, though, because suddenly all of himself is focused on one tiny little thing- a soft huff of air and voice coming from Dave, quickly snapping off.

Dirk would break a thousand eggs if it means Dave would laugh again.

So he just steps over to the sink and washes his hands as he contemplates exactly where he went wrong. Then, after a moment of contemplating his shirt, now splattered with yellow, he decides  _fuck it_ and just shucks it off, pulling it over his head, turning it inside out, and tossing it towards the couch to deal with later.

Making breakfast shirtless. Why not? He grabs another egg.

“Alright, take two.” He says, and lightly taps the egg against the counter, slowly using a little bit more force each time until he hears the familiar _crack_.

There we go. He holds it over the bowl and opens it in his hand and wow okay there goes shell everywhere.

Dirk sighs. Okay, he guesses one-handed shit is out of the question right now. He cleans the bowl out and grabs a third egg.

Tap-tap-tap- _crack_ and then it’s two hands carefully prying it open.

Fuck yeah, no shell. Okay. Dirk can do this. He cracks a couple more eggs and only gets two pieces of shell into it all so he considers that a victory. Then, feeling the pressure of Jane standing behind him with her hands on her hips, he doesn’t add water to them but instead adds milk from the fridge and some salt and  _okay don’t whisk it like normal or it will go everywhere, dumbass_ whisks it carefully with a fork.

He’s got this. He  _is_ the cooking master. Wait, shit, cook bacon first that takes longer. He drops a couple pieces of bacon into the pan, watches it contemplatively, then raises his voice to ask, “how many pieces of bacon do you want?”

  
  


  
  


Dave is inching closer to watch Dirk try to attempt eggs. Like before with the macaroni, it’s bizarre to watch this hulking giant of a man try and  _fail_ something so basic and yet so… foreign. He doesn’t laugh again, his expression schooled the way it should be, keeping his eye on his (now shirtless??) bro while he, and he can’t stress this enough,  _Martha Stewarts around the place_ .

Getting asked about bacon snaps him back from whatever freaked out rabbit-hole he was going to spiral into. “Uh. Two?”

  
  


  
  


Dirk just nods a little bit and then drops another two slices of bacon into the pan. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Where the fuck did that saying even come from, anyway? Jane would say it all the time, followed by a  _Hoo hoo hoo!_ like it was some kind of inside joke that he wasn’t aware of. He’s still not really sure what the joke is, but he supposes he just… picked it up from Jane.

He stares down at the bacon like it holds the answers to everything. Maybe it does.  _Tell me your secrets, oh master of flavor._

The bacon pops ominously, but otherwise keeps it’s secrets. Dirk feels like he should be filling this space somehow, but he doesn’t really know what to do.

  
  


  
  


Dave certainly doesn’t fill the space, at least with words. Not yet. Everything that gets weird and overwhelming hasn’t really crept in, so instead it’s just the sleep-deprived staring of a trained young man. The smells of the bacon is, admittedly, amazing, and he can’t help but think of it as a test even though Dirk has been trying to show food isn’t one. He thinks?

“Have you always been this into cooking? Like… in your own world?” He _has_ to fill the silence with words, he just can’t _not_ , even though it goes against what he was taught.

  
  


  
  


“Mm, not really.” Dirk answers, glancing back towards Dave again. “I used to eat premade shit and processed stuff with only instructional packets to guide me. It wasn’t until Jane stepped in and started teaching me to cook and shit that I started eating real food.”

He nudges at the bacon to make sure it’s not sticking.

“She’s probably the reason we’re all as put together as we are as adults-” Dirk says fondly, “She’s the only one with any kind of real parent to teach her shit, after all,” he says with a little huff of amusement.

Oh.

Wait.

Jane. Dirk probably won’t ever see her again.

He stares down into the pan as something in his stomach goes cold and hard and uncomfortable.

  
  


  
  


Dave keeps his gaze on Dirk, how he stares at the food, how the explanation doesn’t seem so hard for him to give. Maybe it is, and he’s just good at the mask like the rest of them. “Was she your girlfriend?” He winds up asking.

  
  


  
  


Dirk takes a minute longer than he probably should to answer. “No.” He says. “She, uh… no. We were just friends.”

He nudges the bacon again and feels the lump rise up into his throat.

“She would’ve deserved a lot better boyfriend than me, anyway.” Dirk murmurs.

  
  


  
  


Dave feels his hands doing the  _thing_ they do in front of himself, and he tries to stop it, tries to lace his fingers into themselves to make the movements stop. Dirk hesitated, which means Dave might have done something wrong. “But you’re cool.” Cool guys get the girl, right?

  
  


  
  


Dirk looks up to Dave at that and gives him a sad little smile. “Yeah. Unfortunately no one ever told me there’s a lot more to relationships than being cool.”

He shakes his head and finally flips the bacon.

" 'Sides, I wasn’t interested in her." He says. “No, we were just friends- my real attempt at a relationship blew up spectacularly.” He pauses, then adds thoughtfully, “Of course, we were also 16 and both incredible dumb and emotionally stunted in multiple ways, so it really shouldn’t have been a surprise that we fucked each other up a bit, but I still wish it had at least ended a little bit better with him.”

  
  


  
  


He supposes there’s a lesson here or some shit, and if ~~Bro~~ Dirk tells him that lesson he’ll listen; he’s even moving closer again, curious about how he’s cooking. The last sentence registers and he can’t help but feel a dark, deep, pitted sinking feeling in his stomach, and he takes a small step back. “Him?”

  
  


  
  


“Yeah.” Dirk doesn’t give any acknowledgment about anything he said being weird. “His name was Jake. He was kind of a goofass and we were both just… completely horrible to each other.”

He nudges the bacon again. Does he even need to do that? He has no idea.

“I was controlling and he had avoidance issues and we were stupid over each other and for each other and everything fell apart because I talked too much and he didn’t talk at all and we just couldn’t find a balance that worked because neither of us were even trying to find a balance.”

Wow he really just word vomited all of that out, huh. Just unloaded all of his relationship baggage onto his little brother. Good job. A+ parenting of the year, right there.

  
  


  
  


He takes another step back. Why is it whenever some crazy life-altering shit is being discussed, it’s happening in the goddamn kitchen?  _This_ was the test. Absolutely, no doubt in his mind now. Somehow he  _knows_ about the crush he had on John  ~~ no he doesn’t no he doesn’t, it wasn’t a crush it wasn’t  ~~ ~~_anything_ ~~ ~~ John’s just a good friend ~~ , and he wants Dave to admit it so he can be punished, so the beatdown can begin. This means whatever he says now is important.

“Ha ha, good one. You ain’t a fag, Bro.” He knows. Of course he’s not. Why would he be? Ha ha nope no gays here. See he knows the rules he got this.

  
  


  
  


Dirk feels something cold and uncomfortable curdle in his stomach. He just keeps his breathing nice and slow.

“I’m not gay, Dave, if that’s what you mean.” Dirk says, still watching the bacon pop and sizzle, cooking in it’s own fat. “I don’t prescribe to any kind of label, really. But I’ve dated a man and I would do it again.”

He’s not going to acknowledge the word that just came from Dave’s mouth.

  
  


  
  


Okay, it starts off well enough. He’s not gay, see? But then the sentences keep spiraling down, his fingers still twitching and moving in front of him even as he continues to try to stop it, to keep his fingers together so it will  _just stop_ .

“F-for the irony?” He tries, even though Bro _just said_ there was communication issues and other fucking shit involving the relationship, and he said _he_ was the one who talked too much? Fuck. Fuck he should have been paying attention, _Bro_ doesn’t “talk too much” what the fuck.

  
  


  
  


Dirk tilts his head contemplatively and starts taking the bacon off of the pan to set it onto a plate. Dave’s reaction to this ‘revelation’ is… illuminating. Clearly the three years on the meteor must have helped him unlearn some of this shit, but… maybe Dirk can help him get a head start on it.

“If that would make you feel better, sure.” Dirk says calmly. “Not much irony I can see in the whole situation, though. Just two idiots being bad for each other.”

  
  


  
  


_He knows_ . There’s no other solution he can really think on, not with his brain being a sleep-deprived and clouded, stupid thing. He knows, and he’s waiting for Dave to admit it. The problem with this game is even if Dave holds out as long as he can, the punishment is always severe. Giving it up early, he’ll still be considered weak and he’ll sometimes admit to things Bro didn’t know about yet.  _But he knows this, he has to_ .

_Not much irony I can see in the whole situation, though._ Yep he knows, this isn’t ironic, this is the opposite of ironic and Dave is getting the spotlight on him, right? That’s what’s happening? Here in the motherfucking  _kitchen?_ He can see Bro looming, it feels like looming, and he’s frozen in place; he seems so impossibly tall and all-encompassing in the room.

_Just two idiots being bad for each other._ Shit. Shit shit shit. He’s not up on his game to fight, he can summon his sword but Bro beats him when he’s  _actually_ top notch. Extended parts of the game? Of course he’d know Dave wouldn’t sleep. More and more his thoughts are spiraling down, down into some hyper-focused and dark place, like blinders. All he can see is the shadow above him, entire body tense and waiting because in one move he’ll strife if he needs to.

Because he can’t explain he didn’t mean to. There are no explanations in words here. Not in the old apartment, at least, not when Bro ruled all. And unfortunately, in this moment, that’s what Dave sees.

  
  


  
  


Dirk is only aware of the tense air in the kitchen from the sight of Dave’s shoulders going tense-but-not-tense- and he refuses to step into the shoes that Bro has left him. Bro might have been the worst version of Dirk possible (debatable), but Dirk is better than him. Whatever strife or barb or any kind of cruel thing that Dave expects- Dirk isn’t going to do it.

He gets a paper towel and wipes the pan free of grease and, watching Dave out of the corner of his eye, adds “when the world’s all but ended, it doesn’t matter overly much who you’re attracted to, really.”

  
  


  
  


It doesn’t come. It doesn’t fucking come, why isn’t he  _doing anything?_ He normally doesn’t wait  _this_ long, right? Dave’s pretty good with time and shit, Bro’s made him wait before as part of the punishment, but usually once both parties have caught on the stage changes. And yet…

_When the world’s all but ended, it doesn’t matter overly much who you’re attracted to, really._ He clenches his jaw. He’s still expecting something to come, but his guardian is just-

"So you’re… you’re just going to stand there and make goddamn bacon like fuckin’  _nothing?_ "

  
  


  
  


Dirk looks at Dave fully at that.

“Is there something you’d rather me do?” He asks.

He has a feeling this is way last the part where Bro would do… whatever it is he usually does. He looks back to the pan and pours the eggs in.

  
  


  
  


“You’re supposed to teach me a lesson! I’ve been back-talking and _questioning_ you and you haven’t done _shit!_ No strife? No epic beatdowns? Talkin’ about bein’ gay 'n shit? Okay! _Fine!_ I _admit it_ , I think I had a thing okay!? But it was nothing and it won’t happen again so let’s just get _on_ with it, because I don’t know the game. Okay? I don’t know what you’re doing.” He’s still several steps back from Dirk, and he decaptchalogues his sword, his stance firm in front of Bro. _Do something normal_.

  
  


  
  


Dave gets his sword out. Dirk takes a breath and closes his eyes.

Then he opens them, gives the eggs a stir, and then turns to look at Dave fully. “Look, I don’t know how Bro acted. I don’t know how we’re different and how we’re alike.”

He leans back against the counter and rests both hands on the edge. Watching Dave calmly. Calm, calm. He needs to handle this  _calmly._

“But strifing isn’t a punishment, Dave.” He says. “It’s meant to help you _learn_. 'Sides, as far as I can see, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  
  


  
  


He’s being so fucking calm, he can’t tell if that’s the normal calm or the stoic calm. But he’ll take it because it’s  _close enough_ .

_Close enough_ doesn’t mean he feels better about it, though. He throws the sword onto the ground with a flair for a tantrum, feeling the frustration boil in him in a way he doesn’t know how to tamp down or control. "Then  _teach me something!_ "

Except he has. It’s just not the same shit.

  
  


  
  


Ah. Here come the emotional consequences of the situation. Dirk tries not to be upset at Dave’s sudden demand that Dirk  _hurt him_ , but he can’t deny there’s a little flicker of distress in his stomach.

“Alright, then.” Dirk says, instead of stepping forwards to comfort Dave like he wants to. “Come here.” He raises his hand and flicks his fingers in a ‘get over here’ motion.

  
  


  
  


He stares, just for a moment.  _Normality_ . Something he  _knows_ . Okay. He leans down without looking away, grabbing his sword as he stands up to his brother, looking him up and down. What’s his stance, what’s his move going to be? Despite wanting this, he’s defensive, waiting for Bro’s move first.

  
  


  
  


Dirk watches as Dave grabs his sword and gets to his feet, but doesn’t move forwards.

“Put that away.” Dirk says quietly. “You won’t need it. Come here.” The cold stone in his stomach isn’t leaving.

  
  


  
  


Oh shit. He continues to eye him past his shades, but he does as he’s told and decaptchalogues the sword. Hand-to-hand is something they’ve done before, and Bro is good at it too. So this time when he approaches closer, his arms are up. Okay. Ready.

  
  


  
  


A little bit better. Dirk pauses to check on the eggs and give them another stir and then crouches down so that he’s more at eye-level with Dave and holds out both of his hands, palms up. “Give me your hands.” Dirk says.

  
  


  
  


He avoids raising his eyebrow. What? He watches Dirk pause to  _keep making breakfast_ and it’s almost enough to make him frustrated again. But then he’s given a command and he’s close enough to follow it, even though any one of these things could be a trap. Except a trap is way more familiar than dodging it all, so he’s going to take this one, bite this bullet, learn new information. He holds up his hands for him but keeps himself neutral, holds himself still, waiting for whatever Bro is going to do to him.

  
  


  
  


Dirk takes Dave’s hands and gives them a gentle little squeeze before turning them palm-up.

“You feel this spot right here?” He asks, taking the base of one of Dave’s thumbs between his index and thumb. “If anyone ever grabs you and you need to get their hand off of you, biting is generally the way to go. If you can’t do that, then right here is a painful as shit part to grab.” He puts just a bit of pressure on the spot, enough to let Dave start feeling the weird, almost-painful discomfort.

“Otherwise, you grab their thumb,” Dirk shifts his grasp to wrap his fingers around Dave’s thumb, “and you wrench it back towards their arm, alright?” He presses just a tiny bit in the direction he means.

Then he lets go and takes Dave’s hands again, giving them another little squeeze. “That’s your lesson for the morning. That adequate?”

  
  


  
  


He’s expecting to be yanked, maybe? Squeezed, grabbed, flung, any other manner of being man-handled, but instead Bro is… talking. He’s showing him his thumbs, he’s going over his palms. Anything he does doesn’t  _hurt_ , it’s barely uncomfortable.

When he’s done, he stares at his brother’s hands on his wrists, feeling stunned. It was direction told to him bluntly, with diagram, meant to actually teach him something what the fuck. He feels twisted in his gut about it, something unexplainable, but he nods.

“It’s like, five thirty man.”

  
  


  
  


“It’s functionally morning.” Dirk counters and gives Dave a little grin. “You wake up and it’s morning until you decide it’s not.”

He squeezes Dave’s hands gently again before letting go and raising a hand, settling it on top of Dave’s head and ruffling his hair.

Then he’s standing up and turning away to take the eggs off the stove.

  
  


  
  


“Who made you in charge of Time?” he asks passively, still unsure how he’s supposed to be reacting. He just had a freak-out over not strifing or having Bro do something he’d normally do, and what he got in return was -technically?- what he wanted. Right?

  
  


  
  


“Technically, I’m not in charge.” Dirk divides the eggs and bacon onto two plates. “That belongs to someone a lot cooler than me.”

He picks up the plate with two slices of bacon and holds it out to Dave. “Do you want to eat out here with me?”

  
  


  
  


Pfft. Who’s cooler than  _him?_

He stares at what’s offered to him, confused still about what the rules are for the food thing still. He still feels the phantom touches of Bro touching his wrists. He  _does_ want to, but he can’t explain to himself why.

“I guess. I mean, at least to make sure you’re not like, still dying. I don’t know how sick you have to be on your home planet before you’re considered dying, but I’m gonna assume the whole cooking thing isn’t even an indicator so I should probably drop it, huh?”

  
  


  
  


Dave doesn’t take the plate, so Dirk just continues to hold it out to him. “Yeah, cooking- not so unusual. It’s when I start baking that you’ve gotta watch out- because I have been expressly forbidden from doing so.”

Maybe he almost burnt the house down and also broke a window. It definitely wasn’t his fault.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not dying, though- just all outta wack due to the aforementioned… everything.”

  
  


  
  


He knows Dirk keeps mentioning he’s not dying, so why does Dave keep mentioning it back? Why is he so fucking hung up on that? He tries to raise his eyebrow but to be honest, he has no idea if his neutral exterior is working. He doesn’t  _feel_ neutral, he feels the exact opposite of that.

“…we’re not going to suddenly turn into a Food Network watching kinda household, are we?”

  
  


  
  


Dirk snorts. “Yeah, no. If you start catching me watching the  _Food Network_ , then you can officially pronounce me dying.”

He’s still just. Holding the plate. This is weird. Why is Dave not taking the food.

  
  


  
  


“Good to know.” At least it’s a laid out rule now; Food Network, dying man, maybe do something about it. Until then, allow him to continue question mark? He can’t help but eye the food with a pang of hunger; He hasn’t eaten since the night before, and he didn’t sleep while Dirk did, so his body hasn’t been tricked yet. The lesson was kind of a trick-not-a-trick, but what’s the plate?

And it smells good too, because it’s fucking  _bacon_ , like when has he ever had  _real_ bacon before and not just bac’o’bits?

~~_does he want this? does he want this kind of bro right now? is this cool or okay to be a new normal? what’s the answer here?_ ~~

His chin is lifted like he’ll be ready for the next step, and finally,  _finally_ takes the plate, but he’s on Guard and tense.

  
  


  
  


Dave finally takes the plate, looking so so on guard and Dirk’s heart breaks a little bit. Is Dave… afraid of taking the food? Fuck, Dirk hates this. He picks up a fork and sets it on Dave’s plate, then steps over to the fridge.

“Juice or milk?” Dirk asks, choosing to pretend like every fiber of his being isn’t attuned to every single shift and twitch of Dave’s body right now.

  
  


  
  


It’d feel weird if he said milk, despite this supposedly being breakfast. That’s what you drank at breakfast right, milk? “Uh, juice.” There had been some last night so at least that’d be  _something_ comforting. He feels like he’s being sized up still, and that’s no different so that makes him feel better, but it also feels like a very different set of circumstances to measure someone. Like he was changed to compete in a different olympic sport and he doesn’t know which one, he had been originally in fencing holy shit he hopes it’s not fuckin’  _water polo_ .

  
  


  
  


Dirk hums a little and pulls out apple juice, grabbing a cup and pouring some for Dave. He sets the glass down on the counter and, after a moment of consideration, pours himself a glass, too.

Then he’s picking up his plate and.

Hm. Okay. Well.

The kitchen table is kind of covered in crap. So is the couch. Dirk doesn’t really want to stand here and eat breakfast standing up like a tool.

“Fuck it.” He says. “I’m not cleaning the table off. The floor is fine.”

With that, he proceeds to sit down on the floor of the kitchen and start eating his food like an adult who is good at being an adult.

  
  


  
  


Dave eyes the couch and the table, not wanting to clean anything up from it either; and then Dirk plops his ass down right where they are and he  _almost_ snorts. He grabs his glass but, as is the case with Bro as well, he can’t just eat this while standing (without looking like a starving hyena, at least). He thinks he hates that he doesn’t want to go back to his room ( _what?_ ), especially with the offer of staying out here. Dirk’s on the floor anyway, and he still isn’t acting at all like his former guardian. That bubble of frustration still lives inside him, but it is overrun by hunger and curiosity, and so with a much-more-graceful sitting down, Dave plops  _his_ ass down on the linoleum and sets the glass near him.

… it looks like f̴͘͝a̸̋̅m̸͊̌i̴͛̀l̵̆͌y̸̅̾–

_NOPE_ .

Dave frowns considerably, shaking his head and taking a bite of bacon like he has something to prove. It’s just fucking bacon.

It tastes really good though.

  
  


  
  


Dave sits down with him, which is nice, goes to show Dirk is probably doing  _something_ right. There’s still an edge to his movements that betray something being wrong (three fucking guesses what it is,  _ha-_ ), but Dirk’ll take it. He can’t stop thinking about Dave’s hasty, stumbling flashstep backwards from him before Dirk passed out for an indiscriminate amount of time.

Breakfast. Food of the gods. Or just people who really like good food. Dirk gets through about half of his eggs before his hunger clears up enough for him to focus on literally anything other than food again.

“Right.” Dirk says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “This whole place-” He makes a vague gesture with his fork at the… world, he supposes, “is weird and new as hell to me. Pretend I’m an alien from another race and tell me what I need to know to fit in and survive on Earth.”

  
  


  
  


Dave continues to eat his bacon as he watches Dirk  _eat_ , but the eggs he mostly picks at, eyeing them like maybe he hasn’t quite seen them before but of course he has that would be ridiculous he knows what fucking  _eggs_ are. When his brother/guardian/time travelling bro speaks again, it’s actually something he thinks he can work with.

Of course, there’s the little part of him that knows this is an ample opportunity to really just say whatever the fuck he wants, because Dirk probably wouldn’t know any better. But he didn’t prepare anything beforehand and really, that was more Egbert’s bag. He wasn’t much for japes like that, he needed something… not lame.

“Rule one of Earth is, you can’t be lame. You have to be strong and fit and ready for anything at any given moment. Cool.”

  
  


Dirk snorts a little at that. “Universal constant.” He says. “Next?”

  
  


Dave kind of likes the snort. Alright. “Rule two is, nothing is free. You gotta earn  _everything_ around here and it’s all top dog pack shit, yannow? Y’think yer the top shit chihuahua or something and then  _bam_ , eaten by a doberman.”

He pauses. “Do you have dogs where you’re from?”

  
  


  
  


Dirk briefly thinks of Jade, and then Bec, and then Bec Noir.

“We have dogs.” He says. “Nothing is free. I’m assuming that means monetary wise- which, in my world, wasn’t really a thing simply due to the _state_ of the world. Right?”

  
  


  
  


Dave has the smallest frown at the corner of his mouth. “Mostly. You definitely need the dinero but people accept all sorts of shit for shit too. Bro’s great at that.”

His brows furrow as he picks at his eggs again. “Rule three, don’t trust anyone.” A pause. “Especially if you’re some wide-eyed alien. You’re going to get taken advantage of.”

  
  


  
  


Dirk hums a little in understanding.  _Bro’s great at that_ . That means Bro probably has contacts, has people he needs to keep up with, so…

Dirk bumps up ‘get Bro’s shit figured out’ higher up on his priorities list.

“Don’t trust anyone. That’s easy enough.” Dirk side-eyes Dave as he spears some bacon on his fork. Then, deliberately, “it’s a good thing I’ve got you, then, to get me acquainted with the lay of the land.”

Don’t trust anyone. Does that mean family, too, to Dave?

  
  


  
  


Dave isn’t sure if there’s irony abound here, if Dirk is being obtuse on purpose. Still, there’s this really small flicker inside him that likes that Dirk said that, that this guy who looks like Bro (is Bro/isn’t Bro) thinks Dave can really give him pointers of the land. Shame he doesn’t go out in it much.

“And then for the simpler shit, it’s mostly buyin’ shit and playin’ video games and strifin’. Making sure we’re not pussies and, yea. Yannow.”

  
  


  
  


Dirk makes a lot noise of understanding. “Sounds easy enough.” He says. Strifing. Yeah, Dirk’s going to have to deal with  _that_ , isn’t he? He can’t exactly make it so that Dave’s  _unprepared_ for the game, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to do what Bro did and do nothing but kick Dave’s ass.

He finishes off his food and reaches up to drop his plate on the counter behind him. He rifles through Bro’s sylladex for a moment before finding his phone and pulling it out (which- really? Simple drop modus? Okay… kind of boring, but whatever). It’s locked, of course, so Dirk taps his thumb idly on the screen as he tries to think of a pin that Bro would have used. He has a vague memory of unlocking it before, but that was tinged with sick and everything aching and he doesn’t remember the pin that worked.

He tries his birthday (does he even have the same birthday here?), he tries Dave’s birthday. On a whim, he tries Jake’s (he tells himself it doesn’t mean anything when his heart stutters uncomfortably over the fact that he still remembers it).

Hm. Dirk taps the phone against his chin contemplatively. Stupid idea, but…

He tries John’s birthday. The date Dave ~~started~~ will start SBURB.

The phone unlocks.

Dirk stares down at it and tries to grapple with the sudden dizzying feeling of feeling extremely out of his depth.

(Yet another thing to shove onto the pile of 'deal with this  **later** '- it’s starting to look a lot like the Leaning Tower of Pisa up in this bitch.)

Dirk stares down at Bro’s unlocked phone and realizes that he really, really cannot deal with this right now. He drops the phone back into Bro’s ( _his_ , now, he has to remind himself) sylladex.

“Right.” Dirk decides. “I better try and get on top of all of this shit.” He pushes up to his feet. “Can you clean up the kitchen?”

  
  


  
  


Dave watches with renewed interest as Dirk takes out his phone, struggles to unlock it,  _actually unlock it_ , then put it away without actually doing anything on it. He wants to ask what the fuck that was about, but when he’s asked to  _clean_ he can’t help but balk.

“Aw what?”

  
  


  
  


Dirk puts his hand on the counter to steady himself as he looks at Dave.

“…what?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. Does Dave not… clean…? Or…

His head hurts. That’s more due to being sick, though, he thinks, at this point, maybe?

  
  


  
  


He watches Dirk look back at him, still looking really really awful to be honest. He doesn’t move as he watches, contemplating, but…

Maybe he doesn’t want to clean, yea, who does (besides this weirdo)? But Dave isn’t going to be an asshole either.

“Nuthin’,” he says quickly, because there’s _also_ that part of him that isn’t sure if something will change when he’s not looking (or even if he is).

  
  


  
  


Dirk watches Dave for a moment longer, but Dave is like a blank wall of unease.

…alright. Okay. Dirk is… going back to bed.

“Okay.” Dirk says, bringing a hand up and slipping his fingers under his shades to rub at an eye. “Thanks, Dave.” He adjusts his shades and gives Dave a tired little smile. _Dave’s a good kid._ Dirk thinks to himself before gently settling his hand on top of Dave’s head. “I’ll… see you when I’m up again. Hopefully I’ll stop being…” He trails off searching for a word, then shrugs and gives Dave’s hair a little ruffle and takes his hand back. “…I’ll stop feeling like garbage.”

  
  


  
  


Dave’s eyes are watching Dirk’s hand as he moves it, hidden behind his sharp frames and shielding his gaze. One more time, he idly pokes his eggs, but the smile Dirk gives him, despite it being tired, makes him feel frozen there on the floor.

There’s a hand in his hair. Dirk put his hand in his hair, and he doesn’t move, making himself as stationary as he possibly can be. But, like with other things happening these past few days, the fingers don’t curl and grab, don’t yank, don’t force him to his feet to do the chore. Instead he rubs, ruffles, and removes. Painless.

…kinda nice.

“Yea. Yea okay.”

  
  


  
  


With that confirmation from Dave, Dirk goes to bed. He collapses into it and, once more, is out like a fucking light. Do not pass go, do not collect $200 dollars, go directly to sleep. He doesn’t know if he should expect to dream or not, but, when he wakes, if he dreamed, he doesn’t remember them at all.

  
  


  
  


Dave waits until Dirk is in his room and asleep before he finally starts eating his eggs. They’re cold now, but definitely not bad, and his stomach is certainly confused but happy over the situation. He tips the plate in the sink when he’s done, but he stares at the basin for a moment with a careful frown.

So… how did Dirk do this again?

He’s not an  _idiot_ , and he certainly knows how to clean shit, thank you very much, but Dirk had filled the sink to do it and now he’s not sure if this is some free-for-all cleaning technique sesh or if he’s somehow supposed to remember how the older alien Strider did it.

He decides to go ahead and fill the water into the sink, plugging it and watching it splash on the dishes before finally turning away. He leaves the pot of macaroni still on the stove, willing to risk eating it later if need be, but takes the pan and dumps it right after the plates.

“This is weird,” he mumbles to himself, filling the space in the air again. “This is… this is really weird.” Saying it out loud doesn’t really _help_ , to be honest. He sets his palms on the edge of the sink, watching the water fill up with more of a spaced-out, on-edge expression. The sensation of the counter’s lip on the fleshier part of his hands brings him back to the sensation earlier of Dirk’s hands on his, teaching him self-defense without a full-blown applicable approach. His words were blunt and informative, and that was more or less familiar, but there was something else to the tone Dave just… doesn’t know how to pinpoint.

He jumps as warm water suddenly hits his toes, and he balks back with audible surprise. "Oh  _shit!_ "

He quickly reaches to turn the sink off, stepping back a few more feet as he watches more water spill over the edge and onto the floor, settling slowly into a cohesive dome. Fuckity fuck!

  
  


  
  


Perhaps, were Dirk of not-sick state in mind and body, he might have awoken at the sound of something going wrong.

Alas, he is dead to the world and, as such, does not wake in Dave’s hour of watery need.

  
  


  
  


Dave doesn’t move as he stares at the trickling waterfall, listening intently for any other signs of Dirk coming in. Ohhh fuck, things are going weirdly  _weird_ right now, he doesn’t want to piss Dirk off  _now_ . With nobody around to see, his hands go haywire in front of him, fingers spread as his wrists flap. Still fuck. What the fuck. Why?

Eventually, however, he calms enough to breathe from this, his hands calming, and after a few breaths and  _still_ no notion of Dirk coming out of his room, realizes that maybe if he grabbed a goddamn towel this could help instead of standing here like an idiot and flipping out. Cool. Good. Let’s do that, Dave, you fucking weirdo.

He slinks to the bathroom and grabs the used towel on the floor, stepping back to drape the towel over the puddle he’s created. Okay. Kind of good. It’s getting soaked, but… kind of good.

Next step. Drain the sink? Might as well, but that means plunging his arm into the depths of eggy greasy water.

…maybe the potential beatdown is worth _not_ plunging his arm into eggy greasy water.

No, now’s not the time to press his luck. He may have a new alien Bro but that doesn’t mean the dude doesn’t have a trigger or something. So with a painful grimace and  _ huge _ reluctance, in his arm goes, ignoring the  _ gross gross why oh my  _ _**God** _ _ why _ sensation as he pulls the plug, watching the mess he made start to go down.

Phew. Good. Mostly. By putting his hand in, more water splashes on the kitchen floor from disbursement, so the towel is now partially underwater (he’s being only slightly dramatic) and his feet feel  _so gross_ from being soggy  _with the eggy greasy water_ and… and…

He still has to  _actually clean_ but he just… made it worse.

…Nevermind, the beatdown is worth more than this.

He retreats back into his room and shuts the door, changing his clothes and hiding in his computer chair. He’s still  _exhausted_ and yet he doesn’t sleep as he listens for Dirk to wake and see what he did.

  
  


  
  


Dirk wakes up and stares at the ceiling.

This should not be a weird thing, all things considered. It’s a fairly standard behavior for him. What is weird is that, despite having slept multiple times, the ceiling he wakes up to is never his.

…he needs to stop thinking about this. He needs to stop thinking about what he left behind. Nothing good will come from it. He needs to stop thinking about it.

“Hey, H-”

Dirk stops.

Fuck.

_Don’t think about it._

He gets up and slides his glasses onto his face. (Bro’s face.)  _Stop it_ .

He looks down at his hands. (Bro’s hands.)  _STOP IT._

He closes his eyes. Takes a breath. Stands up. Doesn’t think about how he’s a different height, now.

He should eat. He’s not really hungry, but he should eat. Roxy ~~will~~ would have given him a disappointed face if she ~~finds out~~ knew he skipped a meal.

Dirk goes to the kitchen and…

stares.

It’s… a mess. Dirk isn’t sure what happened, but Dave’s cleaning up must not have gone well. It doesn’t look like any dishes even got washed.

His head is kind of… spinning a little bit. He takes a deep breath. Lets it out. Another. Once more, and okay, he feels better now. There’s probably about three or four different things that could have happened, but… Dave’s room is also kind of a mess.

Does Dave not know how to clean? Was this some kind of… passive aggressive rebuff, maybe? Or did he try and get distracted?

Dirk doesn’t know. There’s not much point to trying to guess. Standing and hypothesizing hardly gets things clean.

Dirk gets to work.

  
  


  
  


He hears him.

His whole body tenses as he listens, because hearing someone else in the apartment is already strange and  _wrong_ , but knowing  _who it’s supposed to be_ makes it worse. He can tell when the footsteps move past his door and through the hall, into the kitchen-

Well… there’s no yelling, at least. He isn’t sure if that’d be better or worse.

He continues to sit in his chair, trying to tell himself he’s fine,  _he’s fine_ , he’s just browsing his shit, he’s just doing his normal thing yep that’s him, being on his computer uh huh.

And then he hears the sound of running water and clinking dishes.

Dave bites his lip. Why is this upsetting him? Like, okay no he’s not upset,  _pssh_ of course not why should he be? There’s nothing for  _him_ to be upset about! He just didn’t do A Thing.

That Bro told him to do.

He’s learned before, over and over again, to school his emotions and keep everything under lock and key, to not be a fucking pussy about shit, to  _be a man_ . Even in the safety of his room (ha ha sure) he tries to just… tamp shit down.

He rubs his fingertips deep against his eyes, keeping them there. Listening. Waiting.

  
  


  
  


Washing dishes is methodical. Straightforwards. Simple. Dish into the water. Scrub. Rinse. Stack. Dish into the water. Scrub. Rinse. Stack. Dish into the water. Scrub. Rinse. Stack.

Dishes don’t ask questions. Dishes don’t expect things. Dishes just  _are_ .

Rhythm is nice. Rhythm is reassuring. Patterns can be read and followed and expected ~~and manipulated~~ and adhered to. Patterns govern everything. Dirk prefers patterns, these days. His days of adventure are over.

Were over. Will they come around again? Is he going to have to watch Dave go off into Sburb, watch him meet ~~their~~ his friends, watch… himself.

Will Dave ever meet his Dirk? Dirk’s altered things. Cal is gone.

Will… there even be any need for an alpha session?

~~ Will Dirk ever get to see his friends again, even in some form, just any form, just  **any** ~~

Dishes.

Dish into the water.

Scrub.

Rinse.

Stack.

Lists.

What’s his list?

Dave. Taking care of Dave. Dave needs him. Dirk can’t clock out. He can’t pull a Patented Dirk Strider Move ™️ and fuck up royally. (Ha. Because he’s a prince. All his fuckups are royal.)

Dave needs him. Item number one on his list. On every list. Even other people’s lists. Dave Strider needs his brother. Maybe someday that won’t be true anymore. Dirk will be obsolete.

Dish into the water. Scrub. Rinse. Stack.

He’s out of dishes.

Dirk stares down into the sink as it slowly drains. Water, rushing down.

Water is the same. Dirk knows water. Knows the way it rushes and roars and trickles and whips about in wind so strong it stings the face and reddens the skin like a thousand lashes. He knows it intimately, from the shallow blue to the deep black. He’s dove into its depth and skimmed across its surface. He’s watched the sun rise and set on the water, he’s stared across it for days and days and days and thought of the only other human on the planet.

The sink is empty.

Lists. Dirk can always rely on lists.

Dave needs him. Dirk has to be there for him.

Dirk stares into the empty sink.

Dave needs him. Dirk has to be there for him.

Dirk takes a breath.

Dave needs him. Dirk has to be there for him.

He should eat.

He still needs to figure out Bro’s things. How he makes money. Who he talks to.

His hands grip the counter.

 ~~4\. Look for his friends~~ Look into the other guardians.

He forces himself to let go.

Number 2. He needs to eat. Number one. Has Dave eaten? How long has Dirk been asleep? He remembers being hungry a lot as a kid. Is Dave also hungry a lot?

_Sometimes Bro gets takeout._

A fridge full of swords.

Dirk takes a breath and goes to Dave’s room. He knocks on Dave’s door and tries to remember how to sound like a person. “…hey, Dave.” Okay, he sounds normal. Hopefully. “You hungry?”

  
  


  
  


He hears  _everything_ \- or at least, it feels like everything. He doesn’t even turn on music, hyper-aware of every noise happening in the kitchen, and when it calms down enough for footsteps to approach him, he holds his breath.

He lets it go with the knock. A knock. A question. A normal, Dirk-sounding question. Not like Bro, who wouldn’t knock, who’d leave notes for him to find, who would barely  _ talk to him _ . His fingertips press into his eyes again,  _ hard _ , before he slides his hands away and readjusts his frames.  _ Hungry? Well yea, but why on Earth would Dirk think he deserved that  _ _**now?** _

He still isn’t sure what to do, so he turns his chair and slides out, going to his door. Okay. He can face this.

He opens his door to stare up at his guardian.

  
  


  
  


Dave opens the door. Dirk looks down at him. Dave looks… pale. Nervous but trying to hide it, maybe. He doesn’t answer his question, though, so after a beat, Dirk asks it again.

“D’you wanna eat?”

  
  


  
  


He pauses, just for a moment, just for an indescribable amount of seconds ~~2.47~~ before he forces his head up, a once-nod. “I could eat.”

Cool. That was cool, right? Fuck.

  
  


  
  


“Alright.” Dirk says.

He feels strangely off kilter. Checks his list. Right. Number one and number two. What the fuck food did he buy, again?

“You like soup?”

  
  


  
  


Dave gives another pause. “What kind of soup?” It really doesn’t matter. What soup could he have possibly bought that would be inedible? (The answer is Manhattan Clam Chowder).

  
  


  
  


Dirk thinks back to the cans he bought.

“…chicken and stars, I think.” he says.

  
  


Right. Chicken and stars. Of course. ~~What the fuck?~~

He stares up at him, finding himself waiting, watching  _too_ much, that warring in his mind that new!Bro doesn’t seem to want to do the same things as old!Bro and when it comes to shoes dropping, this one seems to have different triggers he doesn’t know yet. He stops himself from moving, except for the single nod again, trying to pick up what Dirk may try to lay out socially. Needing to know how to adjust to react.

“Are you a shapes guy?” Hm.

  
  


Dirk doesn’t quite know what Dave means. He tilts his head to the side a little.

“…as opposed to what?” He asks, bemused.

  
  


His shoulders go up into a shrug. “Not… shapes.” What the fuck are  _not shapes_ , Dave? “I mean, fuck, there’s noodles and then there’s  _shapes_ .”

  
“Ah.” Dirk understands now. “I… don’t think I have a preference.” He says. He just kind of picked cans a random.

“Is that a yes, then?”

  
  


He doesn’t mention that it seems kind of childish, doesn’t it? Or that there’s a possibility of chicken and stars not being cool, or ironically cool…

He nods. “I guess?” Fuck, he  _is_ hungry, and he  _does_ remember it being a new rule that he eats when he’s hungry, he just… doesn’t get why Dirk doesn’t seem to be acting out on anger or disappointment or whatever. Should he say something? He takes a step forward to leave his room, to see what Dirk will do with his movement.

  
  


Dave steps forwards, so Dirk automatically takes a step back and tilts his head towards the kitchen as a  _come on, then_ gesture. He turns away and goes back to the kitchen, digging the cans of soup out of the cupboard and looking at them.

“Ah, I got tomato, too.” Dirk says, looking at the cans. “Would you rather have that?”

  
  


“Tomato is just food dip.” Who just… _eats_ tomato soup?

He watches Dirk dig the cans out regardless, not daring to ask for something to _go_ with the tomato, perfectly content on settling for shapes.

  
  


Dirk pauses. Thinks.

“…no.” He decides. “It’s not.” He waggles the can in Dave’s direction. “It’s also medicine.”

Then he plops it right back into the cupboard and shuts it, chicken and stars held in his other hand. He cracks it open, finds a pot, and dumps it all inside before squinting at the back and adding a can of water to it. He hunts down a spoon and gives it a careful, quick stir.

Well. Now they wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Dave is played by intergalacticju.  
> Dirk is played by [@LPSunnyBunny](http://www.twitter.com/LPSunnyBunny).


End file.
